Between the Stars and the Sea
by Star Charter
Summary: Her name hasn't always been Hoshiko, but her old name hasn't mattered since she was reborn in the world of Pokémon—a world more heartbreaking, cutthroat and complicated than the Nintendo games could have ever prepared her for. [SI fic. SoulSilver Nuzlocke novelization.]
1. Chapter 1: New Bark Town

Warnings: None

 _Howdy and welcome to the fanfiction adaptation of my Nuzlocke run of Pokémon: Soul Silver!_

 _This is a meta self-insert fic in which the protagonist remembers playing Red/Blue/Silver/Gold in our world as a kid. Thus, references to previous lives, non-Pokémon animals, meta thoughts about the games and other non-Pokémon-world stuff are part of her internal monologue. How she got to be in the Pokémon world will be covered at a later date. Can't give it all away too fast! Present day action will be interspersed with reflections from her past (her past in both our world and the Pokémon world), so please be aware that this story will not always be told linearly._

 _Also: I've aged up the protagonist of Soul Silver a bit because it seems weird to send a 10 year old running loose all over a country willy-nilly. 16 seems more reasonable; an in-world explanation for this age change, and other changes to the world of Pokémon, will eventually be provided. Enjoy!_

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 01:

"New Bark Town"

* * *

Although I'd never been fond of the beach before, there was something about the coast east of New Bark that appealed to me. Perhaps it was the shore's grey chill, blustery with the same squalls that turned the windmills back in town, or maybe it was the tall coniferous trees edging the pebbled beach, keeping my skin shaded from the watery sun (though I was tan now, not ghostly like before, and I didn't fear getting burned). It helped that the coast lay only a short walk down a shaded path from my house; this path began only a few dozen yards from the door of my home on New Bark's eastmost edge, cutting straight and true through the trees to the edge of the rocky shore. It was here I sat, most days, tossing stones into the waves as trees swayed on the salty ocean breeze.

Well. "Ocean" is almost a figure of speech. This body of water was just an oblong-ish inlet, really, connecting with the sea somewhere on the other side of the trees ("Just around the river bend," as a certain Disney song might suggest), but the smell of salt on the air didn't lie. This was the ocean, even if I could see more tall trees on the other side of the inlet with just my naked eye.

It still looked a lot bigger than it did in the games, though.

I couldn't say that aloud as Mom's footsteps crunched across the gravel at my back, of course. I sat in silence as she approached, leaning my head against her neck when she put an arm around my shoulders. She smelled like coffee and cinnamon, tea leaves and books, as she always did—or at least as she always had since the day she became my mother.

That length of time was shorter to me than it was to her. But I couldn't tell her that, either.

"Doctor Malkin is here," she said.

I frowned at the inlet. Pulled away from her so I could toss a stone at the water; it fell short by a foot or two. "He wasn't supposed to get here until four."

"Well, he's early." She grabbed a pebble and threw it, too. Hers hit the blue waves with a splash. "No dilly-dallying, now. He's come all this way. We shouldn't keep him waiting."

"You're right." I reached for my crutches. "Help me up?"

She did, hand on my elbow as I hopped atop my crutches and got my balance. My right pant leg swung below the bend of my knee, empty as an abandoned cicada shell (or maybe a Kakuna shell, considering my situation; some of my metaphors still needed updating after all this time). Mom looked at it and then at me, shaking her head with a tut.

"I don't know how you keep from eating dirt on these rocks," she said. "I can barely keep my feet under me as it is, and I have two of them."

As always, she tensed as she made the joke, perhaps wondering if I'd lost my sense of humor in the same, sudden way I'd lost my leg. I just laughed, though; her face softened with relief.

"It's like you said—I come down here so much," I said. "Practice makes perfect."

"Maybe so," she said. She shaded her eyes and looked up, gauging the position of the sun. "Now c'mon. I hope you've been practicing hustling, too."

Doctor Malkin waited for us on the front steps of our house. Tall and barrel-chested, hair thick and black with grey at the temples, he watched my mother and I come up the beach path with disapproving blue eyes, though when I smiled at him the disapproval softened just a little. He spared little time leading us indoors. He knew the house well at this point, though that was not surprising considering its small size: Just two bedrooms upstairs, Mom's and mine, and the combination kitchen and living area on the ground floor. We sat at the kitchen table, where he had upended his medical bag and toolkit while Mom came to fetch me, and where he had left a long wooden crate with the lid slightly askew sitting idle.

He gestured for me to roll up my pant leg, which I did. "Any pain since I saw you last, Hoshiko?"

"Typical phantom nerve pain; nothing unusual." I touched the scar on the tip of my severed leg, feeling the bumps and folds of the surgically grafted skin. "I've been keeping off it like you asked."

"Good." He brushed aside his coat and thumbed one of the three Poké Balls on his belt. "Still. Can't be too careful. Come on out, Lorrie."

There came an electric trill, followed by a ribbon of pure white light that streaked toward the floor before exploding in a flash of sparks. The sparks turned pink as they coalesced into a solid shape, and then they filled out with color and shadow until a Chansey stood at Malkin's side. As always, the sheer size of her struck me momentarily dumb, as did the sight of pale purple light building in her tiny pink hands. She held them over the stump of my leg, suffusing it in light and a sensation of pure _soothe._

Pokémon.

It had been six years, but I still couldn't help but be awed by the sight of them.

As my mom made tea on the stove and as Lorrie the Chansey (somewhat pointlessly) healed up my leg, Malkin shoved the lid off the box on the table. Out of it came the latest version of my below-knee prosthetic with its black foot, silver shank, and black socket with the racing flames and cheery sakura blossoms painted up the side (a detail I had insisted on getting airbrushed onto the plastic, much to my mother's chagrin). Malkin passed me the compression garment with attachment pin without looking at me; I slipped it over my residual limb, the tight, gel-lined fabric clinging snugly to my leg as it was supposed to. Malkin pulled a wrench from his toolkit and tightened a few nuts and bolts before handing me the prosthetic. I shoved my leg into the socket, feeling the pin on my compression sock click into place.

This wasn't the first prosthesis I'd ever worn, and it wouldn't be the last, but as I rolled to my feet I knew this one was different from the others that had graced my leg in years past. The ankle joint rolled more smoothly than it had any right and the socket was secure without being at all too tight—hell, it was _comfy_ , the new liner plush and thick but breathable, a far cry from the stifling garments of years prior. Malkin had outdone himself (but that wasn't surprising, given his credentials). Lorrie ambled to the couch and flopped onto it with a happy burble as I padded around the house a few times, testing my weight, listening to the stamp stamp stamp of the rubber foot against the wooden floor. Malkin watched with a critical eye, but when I sank back into my chair he smiled.

"At sixteen years old, you should be about done growing," he said. "We shouldn't need to fit you for an upgrade for a while yet." But he stared at me, glare like sandpaper. "Provided you are _careful_ with that one."

Mom, preparing a plate of sandwiches at the kitchen counter, snorted. I flushed, curling my chin-length hair behind my ears. I'd wrecked two or three of Malkin's creations over the years, much to the chagrin of all involved. Before I could make promises to be careful (or make excuses for my previous lapses in judgement, like that time I tried chasing a Sentret up a tree when I was 11) Mom came over and set down the sandwiches and tea. The three of us ate in mostly contented silence, joined by Lorrie who slurped tea with obvious gusto. Malkin hardly looked at my mother when she tried making conversation, however, instead setting down a half-eaten sandwich and angling himself toward me.

"I stopped by Elm's lab on my way in, Hoshiko," he said. "Have you been by his office lately?"

"No." I had no reason to do so, and I said so. "Why do you ask?"

He picked up his sandwich again. "He asked about you. Said he could use your help."

Mom looked at Malkin sharply as he took a bite. "Use her help with what?"

"An errand." He took another bite, still not looking at her. "Didn't say much else."

Mom's eyes widened. "But she couldn't possibly, with her new leg—"

"Nonsense." He spoke through a full mouth, dismissing my mother outright. "She ought to take it for a test run, anyway." Reaching across the table, he shoved my plate closer toward me. "Finish that and get your best hiking boots. Hop to it."

Mom had progressed to full-on glaring at him. Sensing an impending meltdown (well, two impending meltdowns), I grabbed my plate and carried it with me to the stairs, carefully picking my way up them and into my bedroom. Once inside, I slid down the back of my door and sat there with my forehead pressed to my knees—one knee warm and fleshy, the other coated in thick compression sock. My hands drifted to the floor, plate striking wood with a soft click.

Of the two meltdowns I had sensed coming, one most definitely belonged to me—because unless I was mistaken, this sounded conspicuously close to the start of a forced Pokémon journey.

The journey I'd been delaying for, oh… two years now?

Not that _Mom_ had wanted me to go on a Pokémon journey like a lot of other kids from New Bark (and not that there were too many kids in this tiny village to go on said journey, but still). No, she was more than content for me to stay at home and finish traditional schooling before striking out on my own, but Doctor Malkin had been harping on me to go on the customary journey since I was about 14—older than most kids when they started on their journeys, he made sure to mention every time we discussed my future. And sure, seeing the world and more Pokémon was appealing, but I was a _kid_. A kid very easily shoved into the back of a van and kidnapped. This body of mine wasn't very tall, nor was it very strong, and that's in spite of my stubby right leg.

No, I'd decided very early into my existence in this world. I'd wait until I was older and more in control of my life before venturing off on my own, and frankly, I found it exceedingly odd that this place's cultural norm was to send kids into the world without supervision at such tender ages. How was that _smart_ , I ask you?

And I mean, sure. Pokémon were cool and all, and I'd spent my previous childhood daydreaming of becoming a trainer… but too many kids came back to New Bark broken, Poké Balls greyed out and empty on their belts, for me to race so optimistically into the wide, cold world.

Not that Doctor Malkin _or_ Mom understood the truth. They just thought I was cagey because of my leg. Little did they know that was the least of my worries, and that I had a perspective on this matter neither of them could fathom I possessed.

Said perspective couldn't protect me forever, though.

If this was indeed the start of my journey (one I could not avoid forever), I'd have to face it with as much courage as I could.

Eventually I decided I couldn't delay my return downstairs any longer, and that Malkin was too smart for me to fake an issue with my prosthetic. I shoved my sandwich into my mouth and fetched my hiking boots and customary leather jacket before opening my door—but softly. Because voices had drifted up from downstairs, and I wanted to hear what they had to say.

Not that I learned anything new by eavesdropping, mind you. This argument was a tale as old as time (or so might suggest another Disney ballad).

"—can't just volunteer her for things like that!" Mom was saying, voice strained and low as she tried not to yell.

"I am only acting in her best interest," came Malkin's cold intonation. "I am her godfather, after all."

"And I had no say in that appointment!"

"Would you want me to _not_ honor your husband's final wishes, then? Do you want me _not_ to look out for her?"

There was a pause. "You know that's not what I want," Mom eventually said, voice hushed. "You know that."

"I'm sure that I do," said Malkin, tone desert dry—and he took a breath to say something else, but I very pointedly stepped on a creaky floorboard and he shut up.

He might have been my godfather, but nobody picked on my mom on my watch—even if she had only been my mother for a few years now, only since I showed up in this world and usurped my place within it.

But that's a story for another time.

"All right. I'm ready," I said as I carefully descended the steps. "Did Professor Elm say how long this should take?"

"Just the afternoon," Malkin said. He'd moved from the table to the window while I was upstairs, staring past the lace curtains with a scowl. "He needs you to go out past Cherrygrove a ways. You'll be back by dark."

"Good." I went over and hugged my mother, who looked alarmed at hearing the name of the next city over. That was farther than I'd ever been alone, and we both knew it. Into her neck I said, "Have dinner ready for me when I get home, OK?"

"Of course." She sighed into my hair, hands firm on my back. "You have your Pokégear?"

I waved my wrist around behind her, displaying the Sylph Co. watch on it even though she couldn't see. "Yup."

"With the phone card?"

"Uh-huh."

"And the map?"

"Wouldn't leave home without it."

"Good." She pushed me away, but gently, and caressed my hair. "You be careful, you hear me?"

I saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

Mom giggled. Over by the window, Malkin snorted. I stuck out my tongue at him and trotted out the door.

New Bark Town wasn't large by any means. Hell, it didn't even have paved roads, a winding network of gravel paths meandering through houses and businesses before wandering off onto Route 29. Our home sat on New Bark's northeastern edge; Elm's lab was only a few buildings away, separated from my house by just a handful of other homes. The fact that his lab lay at the northwestern corner of the village should tell you just how small New Bark really was. It extended to the south by only six or so buildings, a tight square of homes and basic businesses, before ending just as the forest began anew. It's really no surprise, therefore, that before I could even get out of my front yard I heard someone calling my name. In a town that small, you could barely take a step without running into a dozen people you knew.

The fact that my name appeared to be issuing from a bush was only slightly surprising, in light of that.

"Hey, Hoshiko!" said a bush just outside my neighbor's house. "C'mere!"

I stopped walking and eyed the bush, which rustled a little—as if unnerved by my stare, maybe. My lips quirked; I ran my fingers through my hair.

"Hi, Ethan," I said. "What's up?"

The bush rattled, and then a very human head popped out the top of it. So the bush wasn't sentient, after all. No, it only contained a boy about my age who wore a baseball cap and a red jacket with a white hood. He stumbled from the bush and dusted himself off; after him tumbled a round blue ball with another blue ball for a tail, a Marill rolling into view from beneath the bush's agitated leaves. I smiled at the small Pokémon on reflex. It smiled back, greeting me with a burble and a trill.

Ethan finished brushing off his pants and adjusted his cap, eyes darting left and right suspiciously. "Hey—you haven't seen my mom, have you?" he said.

"Nah. Why?"

"She wants me to do chores and I, well, _don't?_ " He scratched the back of his neck when I gave him a Look. "Gonna go stir up the Remoraid out on the beach. Wanna come?"

"Nah." I pointed at my hiking boots. "Elm has an errand for me, apparently. Won't be back till sundown."

"Oof. Malkin put you up to helping the professor?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Saw him walk by about an hour ago looking very determined." It was his turn to give me a Look, though for different reasons. "I don't know why you keep delaying your Pokémon journey. If my mom would let me go, I'd be all over that."

I rolled my eyes. We'd had this talk a hundred times or more, after all, but this time Ethan's eyes lit up in a way they usually did not at reminders of my reticence. He tapped the bottom of one fist into the opposite palm and grinned, an idea clearly forming behind his bright gaze.

"Say. Maybe if you go on a journey, my mom'll let me go on one, too!" He darted behind me and put his shoulder into my back, pushing me along ahead of him. "So what're you doing just standing there? Go, go, go!"

I could only laugh at his enthusiasm. "Fine, fine; sheesh! See you when I get back, Ethan."

"See ya!" he said as I walked out ahead of him. Once he determined I wasn't going to double back and ruin his chances, he and his Marill both dove back into the bushes and out of sight.

I watched him (well, I watched the quivering shrubbery) until I lost track of his progress, my smile fading into an idle frown. It had been quite a shock to meet this boy named Ethan who looked suspiciously like the male protagonist of _Gold_ and _Silver_ , but by now I was used to the sight of him, and of all that his presence in New Bark Town implied. It had been six years since I appeared in this world and had subsequently moved to New Bark, after all—but in all that time, Ethan hadn't left on his journey and I'd seen neither hide nor hair of a girl named Lyra, either. But then again, lots of things about this place defied my knowledge of the Pokémon games and anime. Not everyone left on their Pokémon journey at age 10 like I had first assumed. In fact, most went on their customary journey closer to 13. Maybe Ethan would go on his after I went on mine, like he'd said.

There was still time for him to find his path and become the next Pokémon master. And when he did, I'd support him as best as I was able. We'd become friends, after all. That's what friends were for.

The rest of my walk to Professor Elm's lab passed without incident. A few Pidgey pecked the ground outside the lab, the rectangular building with its tall windows and stark white walls at once both imposing and utterly stereotypical for a lab way out in this podunk town. The small yard out front had a picket fence around it to keep out the riffraff (or so Elm had said once or twice within my hearing over the years; I got the feeling that by "riffraff" he meant Ethan) but I pushed open the gate without pause. Ethan loved to bug Elm, and I'd been dragged on Ethan's various adventures involving the lab (mostly spying on it through the sparkling windows) too many times to care much about propriety.

The guy lurking around the corner of the lab didn't seem to care much about propriety, either.

I only caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye as he rounded the edge of the building, and truth be told I only saw the barest impression of a person given the fleeting nature of that glimpse. Still, nothing lay to the west of the lab but the edge of the woods, and as such there was no reason to go around back of the lab at all (the lab didn't have a back door, just a front one). I paused with my hand on the gate, staring in the direction the figure had gone, and then I let the gate fall shut. Tiptoeing isn't the easiest in a prosthetic, but I managed to keep my footsteps relatively quiet as I rounded the picket fence and headed for the narrow gap of space between the lab and the trees running alongside it. They flooded that side of the lab with shade; I walked to the edge of the shadow and squinted into its depths, but I saw nothing, the shadows too deep against the lab's white walls to make out anything clearly.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

At the sound of that sharp, nasal voice, I flinched with an "eep" of fright and spun.

He stood just a few feet away, and he appeared about my age. He wore a black coat with a Mandarin collar, all hems trimmed with brilliant red, and a pair of purple pants that didn't quite match the coat. Fashion in this place never quite made sense to me, though, so I barely gave the clashing outfit a second glance. He looked me over with cool grey eyes, but I barely had time to note their color, either, before my eyes were drawn elsewhere as if pulled into orbit by a tractor beam.

A tractor beam manned by his brilliant red hair, which fell over his pale neck and brushed his shoulder blades in a glossy (and highly familiar) curtain.

"Uh," I said, eloquently—but who can blame me, really, for coming up short in the word department at the sight of this young man?

Well. _He_ certainly blamed me. "What are _you_ staring at?" he barked—but then his grey eyes narrowed. "Wait a second. You're not Lyra."

"N-no," I managed to say. "No—I'm not."

His eyes narrowed further still. Frankly, it was a wonder he could even see, they narrowed so damn much. But before I could ask him who he was (an answer I dreaded because I suspected I already knew how he'd respond), or how he knew about the girl named Lyra who _definitely_ didn't live in this village, something snapped over my shoulder. I spun on my bio-heel and saw the telltale tail of a Sentret disappearing into the trees. Slowly I pivoted back to the boy, heart beating hard in the roof of my mouth—

Only, he wasn't there anymore.

In the scant seconds I'd been turned around, the red-haired boy had vanished.

* * *

NOTES:

 _A boy who appears to be the canonical Silver knows about and was expecting the absentee Lyra. What? More on that (and on our protagonist's thoughts and observations about this odd version of the Pokémon world) next chapter. I'm trying to dole out facts about the world naturally as they arise, so if there seem to be gaps in worldbuilding, they'll get filled in when they become relevant._

 _I picked the name "Hoshiko" for my trainer because… I sort of forgot the English games had western-sounding names instead of Japanese ones. Oops. Been a while since I played. But I've head-canoned that Hoshiko's mom is from Ecruteak, home of the Japanese-named Kimono girls, so we'll say that makes it make sense. Also "Hoshiko" is spelled with a Japanese character meaning "Star" and my penname is "Star Charter," so… yeah._

 _Hoshiko is a below the-knee amputee. I've done a ton of research and I have an amputee buddy of mine advising for accuracy. I think it's important we have diverse protagonists in all forms of media. I have limited mobility, personally, and wish there were more protags like me out there, so this is wish fulfillment on a few different levels I guess._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _(Note to readers of my other stories: I do not intend to work on this with the same consistency I approach "Lucky Child." This is a Bucket List Fic, one I've wanted to write for AGES, and I intend to have a lot of low-stakes fun with it. Thanks!)_


	2. Chapter 2: Professor Elm's Laboratory

Warnings: None

**CHAPTER REPOST. I have a new phone, and it has a mind of its own. I accidentally hit the chapter delete button while trying to edit the chapter name and went to click "no" on the "do you actually want to delete this" confirmation line, and... Hit yes by mistake. Ugh. So here's the chapter again, LOL.

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 02:

"Professor Elm's Laboratory"

* * *

The wind I'd soon come to learn never abated in New Bark Town swept across the crown of my head, tousling my short, dark hair with chilly fingers. I thought about wheeling my chair forward and out of the cool shade cast by the tree overhead, maybe warm myself in the sun instead, but the wheels had sunk into the grass. I'd need Mom's help to move. My arms, skinny even for a ten year old's, weren't strong yet—and I was still weak from the accident, besides.

It had been a mere four months, after all. Time would heal all wounds, but as I cuddled deeper into the quilt spread over my lap and sighed, I had to wonder how long it would take to be allowed indoors out of the cold.

Mom was fighting for that right as I spoke. Her voice droned like a buzzing insect, the realtor's nasal tones cutting through the drone like a flyswatter, the pair of them standing on the stoop of our new house as they did battle over the final paperwork. This was the first time they'd met in person. The purchase of the house had happened over email and the phone, for the most part, home bought sight unseen. New Bark Town was too far from Goldenrod and Mom had been in too much of a hurry to tour the place. Hell, we'd had to rent an ATV to get here, the road between New Bark and Cherrygrove little more than a dirt path beaten into the earth by moving feet. Talk about remote—not to mention sudden. It felt like I'd only just gotten used to being in the world of Pokémon, a random citizen of an anything-but-random world, when Mom packed us up and moved to this tiny town.

From my spot under the tree in our front yard, I had a pretty good view of the town itself. Not that there was much to see, of course. Thanks to our house's position on a small hill at the edge of the village, all I had to do to see the entirety of the settlement was push up on my chair's armrests and crane my neck. Yeah, New Bark was just a small collection of houses, bare necessity businesses, a Pokémon lab, and that was it. Goldenrod had at least had a movie theater, not that there had much to see other than overacted action flicks involving Pokémon performing daring feats of rescue. Not my scene at all.

Like many things in this world, the cinema would also take some getting used to.

"Everything looks good." The realtor didn't sound very happy about that, the money-hungry harpy. "Just sign here and I'll hand over the keys."

There came a click, followed by a pause. "Your pen's out of ink," Mom said, sounding none too happy.

"Oh. Sorry." But she didn't sound sorry at all. "Let me just—"

And with that they started bickering again.

I let my eyes unfocus and tuned them out.

Truth be told, I had to wonder if moving to this tiny village was such a good idea. Mom hadn't put too much thought into it, packing us up and moving practically the minute the doctors said I was ready to return to normal activities. And sure, the doctors had indeed recommended clean sea air and a laidback lifestyle after the accident, but Mom was going a little overboard, wasn't she? Wasn't it a bit drastic, coming all the way out here? Part of me suspected Mom just wanted to get me a little further away from Doctor Malkin. They'd been butting heads over my treatment from the start, when Mom came back from Kanto to take care of me now that Dad—

A lump gathered in my throat, and even though I'd never met the man, I tried not to think about the man who could have been my new father.

Anyway. Malkin and Mom had started fighting the second she stepped off the train and whisked me out of his custody. Apparently four months in Goldenrod near Malkin was all Mom could stand, because the second I was able, she moved us far away from his dour reach. Shame they couldn't get along. Bad movies aside, I kind of liked Goldenrod. Reminded me of back home, back in the big city in my old world where I'd lived as an adult. But Mom had made an executive decision to listen to the doctors, and in the span of a week she'd found a house and packed us up and moved us out—and now here we were, stuck in the land of windmills. One of them buzzed near the corner of our new house, generating electricity with every turn of its sails.

Windmills. That was seriously all I could see as I sat up on my arms and peered over the village again. Just houses and windmills spinning above the rooftops, air quiet enough to hear Pidgey and Spearow chirping in the nearby forest, tops of those trees undulating with the wind. And at first I'd been excited to move to New Bark, because as far as I could recall that was where Gold and Silver version had begun, but now that I was here it just looked… well.

It looked boring, really.

What a shame.

I flinched when a figure popped out from behind the tree between me and the house, but it was just Mom. She put a hand on my shoulder and bent, smiling an anxious smile. "Sweetie? We need to go look at something inside. Will you be OK here?"

I frowned. "What are you looking at?"

She patted my arm. "It's nothing you need to worry about. I'll be right back, I promise."

"…'kay."

Mom, who walked off with grim determination in every line of her stride, had no idea of the irony of the situation. I'd been 27 before I woke up in this world, well aware of the intricacies of home purchasing, but here I was being treated like a kid, left out of decisions I was mentally old enough to make—but then again, it was sort of nice to sit back and let someone else handle the hard stuff. One of the perks of being a kid, and frankly, I had enough big existential crises to worry about without adding home-buying to the list. Let Mom handle the money matters while I relaxed. While I tried to adjust to both this new reality and my new physicality.

Steeling myself, I grabbed the quilt on my lap and draped it over my wheelchair's armrest. Jeans covered my legs, but even that thick fabric couldn't disguise the bumps and folds of irregular skin on the end of my residual limb. Still, I gamely touched the lump of flesh below my knee, as unnerved as ever to feel my hand pass through where it still felt like a limb should be. My nerves and my mind hadn't yet caught up with my missing leg.

But frankly? Getting used to a missing leg wasn't nearly as difficult as getting used to Pokémon. There hadn't been any Pokémon where I'd grown up, in that small country town that actually felt a lot like New Bark. This town, this body? I could get used to them both. I'd lived in small towns and had dealt with severe bodily trauma both before.

But Pokémon?

I had never seen anything like _them._

It still threw me for a loop every time I caught sight of one—but even so, I knew well enough by now that Pokémon weren't supposed to be able to talk.

Not with the same articulation the person in the tree above me was talking, at least.

At first I thought it might be a Pokémon, maybe a Sentret, making the leaves rattle in the tree above my head, but then I distinctly heard the words "shoot" and "almost got it" drift from the limbs swaying out of time with the consistent New Bark breeze. I scowled and stared into the thick leaves, one brow arched quite high.

"You gonna hide like a creeper," I said, "or are you going to come out and introduce yourself?"

The rustling stilled almost at once. Guiltily, even.

"I know you're up there," I said. I waited a beat, then two, before shrugging. I looked down, back out toward New Bark again and resettled myself in my chair with a mutter of, "Fine. Be that way."

The tree stayed still a moment longer—and then the tree rattled like a snake's tail. A shower of leaves rained from the tree as a branch kicked and bucked, and then from between the branches dropped a boy. He landed in a heap on the group and scrambled to his feet, brushing off his shorts and adjusting his black and yellow hat as if he'd never made his awkward entrance in the first place. The boy promptly grinned and opened his mouth to speak—but then he stopped, because his eyes had drifted downward and caught on my leg like a hem on a briar patch.

The kid swallowed.

The kid stared.

And then the kid yelped and jumped, staring upward into the tree as his cheeks turned a shade of red more brilliant than that of his scarlet jacket.

"Sorry!" he said. "Mom says I shouldn't stare!"

"It's OK. I get that a lot," I said, because it was true.

He let his gaze drift back down, carefully resting it on my face and no lower. "What happened to you?" he said in that sincere, hushed tone you only ever hear from kids.

I shrugged. "I got hurt really bad. My leg couldn't get better, so I couldn't keep it." This simple explanation was enough for most children, I'd learned. Best not to overcomplicate matters.

This kid seemed to agree. "That stinks," he said with the same sincerity as before. His eyes swept over my wheelchair, emboldened by my frank response. "You're gonna have real trouble getting around in that thing in the dirt and rocks, you know."

"I know," I said. "But I should be getting a prosthetic in a month or two—"

His eyes lit up. "Like a robot leg?"

"Not reall—" But the excitement in his eyes stopped me. "Um. Sure. Yeah. Like a robot leg."

"Cool!" He pointed a finger down the hill, toward a path cutting along the bottom of it. "You wanna go feed the Remoraid at the beach with me?"

I eyed the gravel path with expression most dubious. "I don't know if I can get down there."

"Sure you can! I'll push you!"

"Hey, _wait a minute!_ "

But it was no use. My protest had barely eked past my lips by the time he grabbed the handles behind my shoulders, shoving and straining at the wheelchair with a grunt. When the chair only rocked forward an inch or two, he huffed, "You're heavy for a girl."

"Hey!" I said. "Rude!"

"Hoshiko?!" said my mother.

The kid stopped pushing me, looking like the cat who'd eaten the canary (er, the Meowth who'd eaten the Rattata?) as my mother pelted from the house and skidded to a stop on the grass, hands planted firmly on her hips. Her Mom Senses had tingled, I guessed, summoning her so she could look my new (and suddenly very fidgety) friend over with critical, worried eyes.

"And who is this, Hoshiko?" she said to me once she finished examining the boy.

"Uh." I looked over my shoulder at him. "He's—?"

"I was wondering if Hoshiko could come play with me a while," he said, picking up my name and putting it to good use. He grinned and patted my chair. "I can push her around, no problem!"

Mom looked quite taken aback by his enthusiasm. "Well, that's—that's a nice offer, I suppose. But who did you say you were?"

His grin widened. He jerked a thumb at his chest and tugged the brim of his cap, sunny as a spring day.

"Ethan!" the boy declared. "My name's Ethan; nice t' meetcha!"

Mom greeted him back, introducing herself and asking him here he lived, who his parents were—the typical things an adult asks a child when said child shows up completely out of the blue as Ethan had.

Me, though? I just sat there, wondering why the heck the name "Ethan" had sent a deluge of ice water streaking through my veins.

Ethan. Why had that name put alarm bells in my head, all of a sudden?

"Well. It's nice to meet you, Ethan," my mother was saying. Concern-dark eyes turned my way. "But I don't know. Are you feeling well, Hoshi?"

I flinched, startled from my reverie—and in my surprise I told the truth. "Yeah," I said, because aside from the ice water I felt fine, indeed.

She studied my face. "You're not too tired, are you?"

"No."

"Well, then." Mom hesitated, but Ethan's enormous and hopeful eyes could not be denied. She softened. "If you promise to be back in an hour…"

Ethan's grin went atomic. "I'll get her back by then, promise!" He grabbed my wheelchair's handles and shoved hard enough to send me flying forward a good foot or so. "C'mon, Hoshiko, let's go!"

Mom called after us to be careful, but Ethan was too busy huffing and puffing to pay her any mind. He kept up a steady stream of chatter (no idea how, considering how hard he was breathing) as he propelled me down the hill (which was a little scary) and then down the path to the beach, fighting against the rocky shore when we finally reached it—but as I twisted in my seat to tell him to take it easy, I only had one chair and I didn't want it to break, he tilted his head back. The afternoon light caught his eyes, illuminating their color for the first time.

They were gold, Ethan's eyes. They were bright, luminous cold, the color of gleaming coins uncovered from deep, dark earth.

At the sight of them, I understood the ice water in my blood.

Ethan was the best friend of the female protagonist of Gold and Silver versions—and he lived here, in New Bark Town, where both of those versions began.

* * *

Elm kept the Poké Balls on what was essentially a high-tech Lazy Susan, like the one my grandmother in my old life kept on her breakfast table—only this contraption had a big metal base and a glass dome on top, supporting and protecting a trio of glistening red and white Poké Balls instead of Grandma's homemade cinnamon rolls. The Poké Balls sat on a rotating platform; a button beneath the platform cycled the Poké Balls forward and back at my touch.

Professor Elm looked on on excitedly. Expectantly. I felt his eyes boring into me as I pushed the button over and over again, turning the Lazy Susan and the Poké Balls upon it with only the barest of glances at their occupants. Somewhere in the background, two of Elm's assistants chatted about a new fossil discovered at Mount Moon over in Kanto. The A/C buzzed in the ceiling, pushing cold, dry air against my nape.

"Just let me know if you have any questions about them, Hoshiko," Elm chirped after a while.

"… OK."

Every time one of the Poké Balls came to the front of the platform, a small image appeared on a screen to the side of the button. Words appeared below the pictures, too: Cyndaquil, the fire Pokémon; Totodile, the water Pokémon; Chikorita, the grass Pokémon. I barely glanced at the words or the images even though I'd been staring at the screen for a solid three minutes. It was frankly a miracle Elm's enthusiasm (not to mention his patience) hadn't waned in the slightest in all that time. From the corner of my eye I saw that his brilliant smile hadn't dimmed a watt since I'd entered and he'd babbled a monologue about his friend Mister Pokémon at me.

"Hoshiko! Great timing! I could use your help. I have an acquaintance people call Mister Pokémon," he'd blurted almost the second my feet crossed the threshold. "He keeps finding weird things and raving about his discoveries, but he says he has one that might be real this time. It's probably just another Pokémon egg, but since I'm so busy here, I'd like for you to go see him and bring back that discovery. Isn't that _exciting?_ "

This sounded suspiciously like Elm's task at the start of Gold version, of course, but I had trouble remembering the specifics well enough to know for certain. I took a shot in the dark anyway and asked, "You sure you don't want Ethan to go? He loves this sort of thing."

"No," Elm had said at once. "I think you're better suited for this task."

I gave him a Look. "Malkin put you up to this, didn't he."

"We-ell…" he said, looking quite guilty, but he'd bundled me off to the Pokémon storage unit before I could interrogate him further.

And that brought me here, to picking a Pokémon to be my companion on my trip to Mister Pokémon's house. I snuck another glance at Elm, at his crystalline glasses and short brown hair and tidy lab coat, only to find him giving me another of his eager, happy smiles. Elm probably thought I was giving my choice a lot of thought and was likely pleased at my care and consideration, hence that smile of his. He'd be disappointed to know that in truth, my thoughts had wandered elsewhere.

Like. _Mega_ elsewhere.

I'd stumbled into the lab on metaphorically wooden legs after Silver vanished (because surely that had indeed been Silver outside; how many grumpy redheads hung around Elm's lab?). I'd been too stunned to even look around and try to track Silver down once he'd disappeared, heading into the lab on adrenaline and reflex alone. And then Elm had told me about the errand—the errand either Lyra or Ethan was supposed to go on, not some random girl like me—and I'd found myself staring dumbstruck at the Poké Balls and their occupants.

Occupants that were the traditional starters of the Gold and Silver versions of the Pokémon games.

… yeah. _Yeah_. That had _definitely_ been Silver outside. But how? Not to mention why?

Call me delusional if you want, but I still held out a vague hope that I hadn't somehow just hijacked the starting plot of the Pokémon Silver and Gold. I mean… maybe this wasn't _the_ errand that kicked off Gold and Silver? After all, Elm said Mister Pokémon made _a lot_ of these dubious discoveries. There was a chance Elm would send Ethan to check on the next one, and surely Gold version would start as it was supposed to with its proper protagonist in place…

Elm cleared his throat, smile thinning just a tad.

I gulped and looked back down at the Pokémon before me, pressing the button a few times more. My time for contemplation had come to an end, it seemed. Thankfully I had finally begun to calm down. Elm's fading patience had good timing.

It had been six years since I found myself in this world, and I hadn't played Gold or Silver (or HeartGold or SoulSilver) for a few years before that. Almost a decade of not playing kept many details of the games fuzzy, but in all of my play-throughs, I'd played with either Cyndaquil or Totodile. I'd enjoyed playing with both of them, not preferring one over the other—unless you put Chikorita in the mix, but I only resisted picking Chikorita now because I was unfamiliar with them, not because I disliked the Pokémon itself. Truthfully, I'd be happy with any of my options, but it was hard to choose when I had no real preference.

Would the real protagonist of this game have an easier time making this choice?

And would there be any good Pokémon left for them by the time I was done here—and by the time Silver was done, too, should he choose this moment to strike and steal one?

Tucking hair behind my ear, I turned to my right. "Say, Elm?"

He bounced forward like an excited rabbit. "Yes?"

"What happens to the ones I don't pick?"

He looked surprised, blinking at me for a moment, but then he let out a bright laugh. "Why, I'll give them to the next children who start their journeys, of course! You need not fear any of them finding homes, if that's what you're worried about."

It wasn't, but there was no need to tell him that. "That's a relief," was all I said, and I turned back to the Poké Balls.

If we're being honest, part of me wanted to pop all the Pokémon free of their containers, get to know their personalities a little to see who might be the best fit for me—but then again, if I saw their tiny faces (and heaven forbid if any of them gave me Puppy Eyes) I'd feel too guilty to pick one over the other. I was going to feel guilty no matter my choice even without them staring at me; no use rubbing salt in the guilt-wound. Best not see them until I made a choice. But who the heck should I choose, if I wasn't allowed to run away with all three of them?

Elm—patience wearing even thinner—cleared his throat again.

I went back to thumbing the button on the Lazy Susan. I spun the dial around until Totodile faced me and stared at the little cartoonish sprite that appeared on the screen below. Totodile was certainly cute with that smushy blue face and the adorable spines on his back… but then a distant memory of the Pokémon anime swam forward. Hadn't Totodile liked to chew on stuff? I seemed to recall one chewing on Ash's face or something. It would be bad if those sharp teeth got hold of my prosthetic, right?

Hesitantly, I spun the dial around to Cyndaquil—and before I could lose my nerve, I reached out and closed my hand around its shiny red container.

Elm started to squeal with delight, but he choked off the sound with a grunt. "Ah. So you've chosen Cyndaquil, the fire mouse." He shoved his glasses up his nose imperiously, but he could not keep a smile off his face. "I had a feeling you'd go that route."

I frowned. "You did?"

"It was either Chikorita or Cyndaquil if your fashion sense was any indication," he said, nodding at my prosthetic.

It took me a minute to remember the flames and sakura blossoms airbrushed onto the plastic socket; feeling a bit silly, I hung my head and felt my cheeks flush. "Well. We are our choices, I suppose."

His head cocked to one side. "What was that, Hoshiko?" he said, Sartre quote flying right over his head.

"Oh," I said. "Nothing."

"If you say so." He spun on his heel and walked to his PC, which sat beside a long table on a desk. "Well, do you want to meet her?"

My ears pricked up at that. "She's a she?"

"She is." He typed something into his computer and remarked over his shoulder, "Press the center button to expand the Poké Ball, then call out her name to summon her."

"Uh…" I turned the Ball over in my hands until I located the button he'd mentioned. The shell of the Poké Ball was cold and smooth, contrasting the fire Pokémon that lay within. The Ball doubled in size with a click when I pressed the button, startling me, though I covered the reaction with a cough. When I recovered I held the Ball at arm's length and (in a fit of whimsy) called out: "Cyndaquil, I choose you!"

"Rather dramatic phrasing, don't you think?" Elm muttered as he typed away at his computer, but I was too distracted to pay him any mind.

I'd seen Malkin summon his Chansey enough times to know what was coming, but I still stared with my mouth open as a beam of red light burst from the front of the Poké Ball and hit the ground in a shower of sparks. The sparks swarmed together in a lump before losing their radiance, leaving behind a flesh and blood Pokémon in their wake. Cyndaquil was, in a word, fucking _adorable_. Long snout, eyes glimmering crescents in its furry face (like a puppy who hadn't opened its eyes yet _oh my god too cute_ ), it had a squat body with a round belly and an enormous head, with tiny front paws tipped in sharp, curved claws. It had powerful back legs and pronounced haunches, kind of like a rabbit, and when I saw the red spots dotting its navy back I felt the urge to coo at it like I'd just seen a particularly twee kitten. The Pokémon's soft, shiny fur looked downy and plush, but I refrained from rushing to pert the thing as it sat on its haunches and looked around the room.

"Hi," I said, unable to keep quiet.

The creature's head swung toward me. Slowly it—I mean, slowly _she_ took one delicate bunny-hop in my direction, followed by another, until she came to a stop at my feet.

"Hello," I repeated. "I'm Hoshiko."

The Cyndaquil's nose twitched as it stared up at me. Then, moving inch by inch, she dropped her head lower, long snout snuffling at the tips of my toes.

"You'll need to think of a nickname for her," Elm said, still busy typing something. "I'm registering her to you now."

"A nickname?" I said. "Oh. Um?"

The creature at my feet burbled, rising onto her haunches again—and then she lifted her stubby front paws upward, reaching for me. "Pick me up, please," is a universal statement; I slipped my hands under her arms (she was as soft to the touch as she looked, fur short and dense and velvety) and lifted her until we came face to face. She smelled like charcoal and new leaves, smoky and sweet at once.

"Um." I tilted my head sideways; she did the same. "Maybe… maybe 'Hotaru?' It means firefly." I looked around my Pokémon toward Elm, hesitating. "But if that's not good enough—"

"Oh, it's good enough. It's lovely." At that Elm finally looked at us, smiling when he saw her in my arms. "Isn't it perfect, Hotaru?"

Hotaru peeped like a hungry baby bird, but in the sound I fancied I heard an affirmation. Could have been wishful thinking, though.

Elm pecked at a few more keys before standing up, chair skittering against the ground as he pushed it back. "There. She's been registered in your name." He came out from behind the desk and patted Hotaru's head, running his thumb up and down her nose; she closed her eyes tight with pleasure. "Just remember to keep Hotaru healthy. But don't be too hesitant, either. Pokémon grow stronger by battling, so even if it's intimidating, don't fear wild Pokémon." His smile was as fond as it was reassuring. "Hotaru can handle anything this region throws at her, I promise."

"OK," I said.

"And be sure you travel with her _out_ of her Poké Ball," Elm continued, wagging a finger at me. "It promotes bonding and frankly I want to study if it makes Pokémon healthier. She'll follow along behind you if you let her. Go on, try it."

Hotaru and I exchanged a glance; I put her on the floor and made a lap of the lab, looking over my shoulder to make sure she understood (though I had no idea just how much of human speech she could comprehend at this point; baby Pokémon had more trouble than the older ones, Elm had told me once). It took a few calls of her name, but eventually she got the hang of bunny-hopping at my heels, crashing into them a few times when I came to a stop too abruptly. Elm watched with outright joy, eventually coming forward to pat Hotaru's head one more time.

"You two will get along splendidly, I think." He rubbed her snout again, and she reward him with another of her birdlike peeps when he stood up. "Well. You're ready to begin your trek, Hoshiko. Good luck!"

He stepped back. I took a deep breath, patting my thigh as I smiled at Hotaru.

"Uh… well. Follow me, I guess?" I said, and Hotaru cheeped at me in affirmation.

Maybe I shouldn't have done what I did next. Maybe I should have walked out the door and just let myself wonder, instead—but I don't do well with the unknown. I don't do well with gnawing questions, uncertainties left to eat away at me as I lie awake in bed at night. Thus, it's no surprise that I paused at the door to the lab and turned around. Hotaru burbled a question at my feet, but for the time being I ignored her and looked instead to Elm.

"Oh. Before I go—Professor Elm?"

He had already gone back to work, looking over a document handed to him by one of his assistants. "Hmm? Yes, Hoshiko?" he said, adjusting his glasses.

"You don't know anyone in the village named Lyra, do you?"

At that he looked up from the document. "Lyra?" he said, frowning.

"Yeah."

He thought about it, but soon he shook his head. "I know most of the village children, past and present, and I'm afraid I haven't heard that name before. Why do you ask?"

"Heard the name in passing. It's nothing, really." But that was a lie, one I covered by pointing a thumb over my shoulder at the door. "I oughtta get moving."

"Oh—all right, then." He waved, beaming. "Have a safe trip, and I will see you this evening."

"See you soon," I said with a cheery smile—but as I left the lab, Hotaru hopping at my heels, a heavy weight settled in the pit of my stomach. Ice water filled my veins the way it always did whenever I discovered something unsettling about the world of Pokémon.

Elm had never heard of anyone named Lyra.

I was being sent on this errand instead of Ethan.

Silver had shown up just before I left on this journey.

It was looking more and more like I'd indeed thrown some kind of cosmic wrench into the plots of Pokémon Gold and Silver. It was all I could do to hope this errand wasn't _the_ errand—because if it was, I had just sent the canons of Gold and Silver careening into treacherous waters, with no idea of the murky consequences my presence in them might wreak.

* * *

Pokémon Acquired: **Hotaru, a level 5 female Cyndaquil.**

Nature/Characteristic: **"Gentle," "likes to thrash about."**

Moves **: Tackle and leer.**

 _I'm going to base all of my Pokémons' in-story personalities on their game-determined natures and characteristics. Many Pokémon I already think of as having certain personality types (mischievous ghost types, hotheaded fire types, etc.) so this will challenge me to give them personalities I normally wouldn't think to give them. Plus it adds a randomized element to their personalities, which is fun._

 _Also, you might have noticed no Pokémon have talked yet. I'm going with non-speaking Pokémon for this story, but that doesn't mean they won't be able to communicate with Hoshiko. Pokémon are smart, and they will be portrayed as such._

 _Next chapter: On the road to Cherrygrove._

 _I'm on Tumblr as "LuckyStarChild" and you should follow me there for extras about this fic._

 _Kiiiiiiiiind of shocked at the reception the first chapter got? Between the favs/follows and warm reviews, I'm walking on air. Special thanks to the following in particular for making my day with a review: Blaze1662001, MischiefPumpkin, StrifeStelar Mizo, guest, Tsarashi, Evanescentfacade, and Orihime-san!_


	3. Chapter 3: Route 29

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 03:

"Route 29"

* * *

After a minute's silent contemplation, I looked at her and said, "Hey, Hotaru?"

Hotaru stopped munching the cookie I'd given her from my backpack, treat comically large when clasped between her tiny front paws. She sat on her pudgy haunches, upright like a Meerkat looking for enemies, while I sat on a stump by the edge of the faint, uneven path winding through the forest to Cherrygrove. Sunlight filtered between the thick leaves overhead, painting Hotaru's navy and cream body shades of black and brown. Hotaru watched through her narrow, curious eyes as I adjusted my compression garment and retied the laces of my boot. Advanced though this prosthetic was, it still took some getting used to.

I took a deep breath, hands on my knees. "So, like." Another deep breath of cool forest air, perfumed by rotting leaves. "Can I… rant a minute?"

Hotaru cocked her head to one side, which I guessed meant "yes?" I took it as such, anyway.

"Thanks." I took a third deep breath, bigger than the first two combined. Said in a glutted rush: "So like, that was _definitely_ Silver back there and he's _definitely_ supposed to show up and skulk around the lab just as the hero of HeartGold starts their journey, a journey which begins with a trip to visit Mister Pokémon, which is exactly what we're doing now because _oh my god what is happening?_ And Ethan is the name of the protagonist's companion and not necessarily the name of the protagonist himself and Ethan-the-companion is supposed to have a Marill, which my Ethan most definitely does, and somehow I, Hoshiko, got sent on this mission and not Ethan, but my name isn't Lyra and I look nothing like she did so _obviously_ I can't actually be Lyra or the protagonist of this story. Right? I mean, look at me!"

I could practically see the question mark floating over Hotaru's bamboozled face as I pointed at my olive shorts, the thigh-high black sock on my left leg, my heavy hiking boots, my black t-shirt and Dad's creaking and oversized brown leather jacket, sleeves pushed back to my elbows and pinned in place— _not to mention my freaking prosthetic_ , which Lyra (or Gold, or whatever her name was) most certainly hadn't possessed. The short, dark hair sweeping my jaw, my almond eyes of deep brown, my golden skin, I gestured at all of that, too, because I looked nothing like the pigtailed, red-and-blue-wearing Lyra at all and I needed to prove that to Hotaru.

Or maybe I just needed to prove it to myself.

Either way, Hotaru gave me an uncertain peep.

"Right. Exactly," I said. "I look nothing like her." I pointed at the ground between my feet, leaning down to stare Hotaru in her the face. "So, like, I'm thinking this _isn't_ the actual start of the Pokémon journey, OK? And I'll get to Mister Pokémon's house and he won't have the right egg and it'll just have a Pidgey in it or something and this'll all be over soon and then the real Lyra will move to town and that'll be that and I can start breathing again." A huge breath inflated my air-starved lungs; I smiled at Hotaru hopefully. "You agree with me, right?"

Hotaru stared at me, unmoving.

She peeped once.

And then she went back to munching the cookie I'd given her, crumbs dotting her short, dense fur.

"… how much human speech can you actually understand, anyway?" I grumbled after a time. I put my chin on my hand, regarding her thoughtfully. "You're kind of just a baby still, after all. A cute baby, yeah. But still."

The cookie dissolved in Hotaru's paws, her nibbling reducing it to so many crumbs. She began to groom herself like a rat might, pawing at her face and swiping at her fur and whiskers. I smiled in spite of myself. Too. Stinkin'. _Cute_.

"I guess even babies can understand tone and emotion," I said. "So even if you don't get the specifics, I'm sure you can tell what I'm feeling." But when Hotaru didn't peep at me and just kept grooming, I had to sigh. "Or maybe that's just wishful thinking."

It was impossible to refrain from dropping my head into my hands with a low groan. My elbows bit into my knees, the right knee cushioned a little by the upper hem of my compression sock.

"Oh, man," I said. My fingers tangled with my hair, pulling at it until pain washed across my scalp. "I just wish I had someone to talk to, y'know? I've been here for six whole years and I haven't been able to tell a soul about this—and now _Silver_ shows up? And he knew Lyra's _name?_ " I tugged my hair a little harder. "Man, I don't know what I'm supposed to think, and there's nobody to talk to about it! And ranting is how I cope with things! I just wish—"

Something tapped against my boot. I pulled my head from my hands to find Hotaru standing with one paw on my toe, and as soon as I sat up a little she climbed up my bio-leg like a hungry kitten, claws pricking my skin through my tall stockin. She crawled on my lap and then halfway up my torso before spinning and collapsing; I caught her, holding her reclined in my arms the way you clutch a newborn. Burbling with contentment, she tucked her chin against her chest as her pudgy, cream-colored belly rose in slow, deep breaths—apparently settling in for a nap.

She was super warm, I found. As warm as a little radiator, emitting soothing heat like a fuzzy coal.

"Heh." I leaned in close, put my nose to hers with a smile. Her whiskers tickled my cheek. "Maybe you can understand me, after all. It's impossible to be stressed around something so cute."

Hotaru's eyes squeezed completely shut. She wriggled a little, like she was trying to get comfy and settle in—but then she did it again, and again, a bit more exuberantly that time. She shook her booty from side to side and threw her head in the opposite direction, wriggling and writhing and thrashing about with rising peeps of glee. I held onto her as best I could, but soon her delighted dance had me rocking like a boat in a storm.

"Hotaru you little—!" I said through gritted teeth. I scooting back across the flat tree stump, trying to steady myself. "Hold still or—! Eek!"

She gave a particularly energetic thrash just as I reached the back of the stump, and with a yelp I careened backward off of it and into the pile of leaves at its base, feet sticking comically up into the air. Hotaru sat up on her haunches on my chest, looking down into my stunned face with musical chirps that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"You little weasel," I said, glaring (though my stare didn't have any teeth). "Or are you supposed to be a ferret? I forget."

Hotaru just laughed her little chirping laugh some more—but before I could tickle her for revenge, something rustled in the bushes just behind my head. Hotaru and I looked up into the bush as one as it gave another rattle, and then as one we scrambled to our feet. I climbed over the stump and staggered back onto the path just as the bush rattled a third time—and then from the leaves scampered a Sentret.

"… OK. Never mind," I said to Hotaru, who had taken cover behind my right leg; her claws clicked against the metal prosthetic as she peered around it at the Sentret, long nose twitching as she scented the air. " _That's_ the weasel-ferret-whatever, not you." My bio-foot slid backward over the path, crunching against loose stones and fallen leaves. "Maybe if we back away slowly…?"

But the Sentret didn't like that. It had a kite-like figure, flesh connecting its small paws to its back legs like a flying squirrel, and an enormous tail almost twice as long as its body (which was decorated by white fur in the shape of an O, by the way; bad evolutionary design, basically having a target on your chest, but that's no skin off my nose). Its head blended seamlessly with its body, tiny mouth opening in a snarl as it crouched on the ground and crept forward, tensing as if to pounce.

"Uh," I said. "Never mind, apparently. Maybe if we just run—?"

Before I could, the Sentret darted forward with a feral screech. Hotaru peeped and bounded out from behind my leg, intercepting the Sentret halfway; the Pokémon danced backward with a snarl, but it didn't retreat and crouched low, staring at us with beady eyes.

"Nope, running's out," I said—and then my eyes widened. "Wait. Is this our first battle? Oh my god." I paused. Felt my eyes widen in horror. " _Oh my god_ , I think this is our first battle!" All at once my eyes felt dry, my palms sweaty, my tongue tied. What was I supposed to do? What was I—? Oh, yeah. Battle moves. Taking a shaking breath, I raised one trembling hand at the Sentret and said, "Um? Hotaru?"

She looked at me over her round shoulder through one slitted eye.

"Uh… tackle it?" I said.

That was one of the two moves Elm had told me Hotaru possessed, but for a minute she didn't react. She thought about it, looking skyward for a second before hunkering down on the ground. She pushed off with her back legs and launched toward the Sentret, flying at it like she meant to take it down like a linebacker slamming a quarterback—but just before she reached the Sentret, she stopped in her tracks.

The Sentret stared at her, nonplussed.

She looked between herself and the Sentret, gauging distance.

The Sentret cocked its head to the side.

And then Hotaru very deliberately jumped, slow-motion bellyflopping onto her opponent.

The Sentret hit the dirt with a grunt, but it didn't look pained as it bucked Hotaru off and regained its footing. It wheeled in place and struck out at her, attempting to scratch her with its claws—but she sat up on her back legs and swiped back with her tiny paws, too. Their hands slapped at each other ineffectually, both of them looking away from the melee with expressions of grit-toothed determination.

… they were literally having a cat-fight.

I doubled over, put my hands on my knees, and started laughing.

The Pokémon paused and looked at me, startled. I flung out my hand.

"Hotaru!" I wheezed through my laughter. "Tackle it again!"

And she did—but this time she got the hang of it. She didn't pause and gauge the distance, instead launching at the Sentret and bashing her head into its pillowy stomach with the sound of two marshmallows colliding. Hotaru hopped away immediately, watching as the Sentret staggered back and fell over on its side, eyes glassy and stunned. Then, with great effort, it picked itself off and slunk into the brush, chattering angrily at us until it disappeared amid the forest's shade.

I just stood there.

Hotaru just stood there.

We looked at each other, equally confused.

"I… I think we did it?" I blinked at her. "Um. I think we did it." And then I grinned, hopping in place before dropping into a crouch to beam at my Pokémon. "I think we did it, Hotaru! You just won your first battle!"

In finally sank in for Hotaru, too. She twirled, spinning and kicking up leaves with joy before I scooped her up and spun, holding her at arm's length like a kid playing airplane before I cuddled her to my chest and nuzzled her soft head. But then Hotaru started doing her happy little war dance again, thrashing in my arms and peeping; I sat down in a heap and let her flail about on my lap, laughing right along with her.

"Y'know, Hotaru," I said. "Maybe battling isn't so scary, after all."

Hotaru agreed, I think. She cheeped and burbled and peeped, and for a minute, all my worries about Silver vanished like mist under insistent sun.

For a minute, anyway.

I had no way of knowing what lay ahead for Hotaru and me, nor that our victory that day was destined to feel short-lived.

* * *

 _NOTES :_

 _Just a short chapter about their first battle, on Route 29. Doing chapters for specific places is a fun way to divvy up events and organize the story._

 _Hotaru's "likes to thrash about" nature showed itself! If you've owned a ferret, you probably know about the "Weasel War Dance," and I envision her doing something like that when she happy-thrashes._

 _Many, many thanks to those who reviewed last go-round. YOU MADE MY DAY: C S Stars, mischiefPumkpin, Tsarashi, and Loyal Toaster!_


	4. Chapter 4: Route 30

Warnings: Violence, death, language

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 04:

"Route 30"

* * *

We encountered two more Sentrets on our way to Cherrygrove City, but a few quick tackles (which looked more like off-center headbutts or floppy bodyslams to me, but whatever) sent the interlopers scuttling back into the forest. Much though battling wild Pokémon frightened me, mostly out of concern for Hotaru's safety, she seemed to enjoy the rough-and-tumble bickering initiated by her low-level foes. Neither she nor the Sentrets even managed to draw blood with their adorable catfights, I was abundantly pleased to note, and by the time we sauntered into Cherrygrove City, Hotaru was blowing happy smoke rings toward the sky. She puckered her mouth and huffed, the red dots on her hindquarters illuminating like stoked coals, and then a puff of white smoke blossomed from her mouth and drifted toward the clouds.

"Are you learning a new move?" I asked her as we walked through Cherrygrove and out its northern gate toward Route 30. "Huh? A new move? Are you the best fire weasel in the world, huh?"

She blew another ring at my face and nuzzled my toes. Her smoke smelled like ash and, inexplicably, cinnamon, and I found I didn't mind the scent at all.

Route 30 was darker and shadier than the woods lining Route 29, fallen logs brimming with sprouting mushrooms and velvety, deep green moss as the gloom settled cool against my neck and scalp. Hotaru stuck close to my heels as we walked down the path, even though this path was actually paved and looked far better-traveled than the rural Route 29. A road, then, if we're getting picky. Tree branches crowded thick in a canopy above our heads, the light tinted an odd, luminous green, like perhaps we traveled underwater. The occasional click and rustle from the brush edging the path reminded me that we were likely only yards away from wild Pokémon, and suddenly I found Hotaru's Velcro clinging quite understandable indeed. I stopped to pat her head and point forward along the path, toward an arch in the trees through which we could see streamers of golden sunshine.

"Almost out, Taru," I said. "See up there?"

She burbled low in her throat, butting into my hand for another reassuring pat.

Soon the road indeed led us from the darkness of the trees, out onto a section of causeway lined by white picket fence on one side and by the forest on the other. Beyond the fence lay slanted rows of neatly ordered trees stretching into the distance, orchard ending where the deep woods began anew. These trees were short, almost conical, bearing round fruit the size of my fist on their pointed tops. Mostly green fruit, here, with spots of yellow swimming through as they ripened. Apricorns, right? I'd seen pictures, but never any in person. I trotted over to the fence for a closer look, hopping up onto the fence's bottom rung so I could see better. Hotaru followed suit, peering over the rung beside my boots with an uncertain peep.

"Well, now. Haven't seen you 'round these parts before."

I flinched, startled, but it was just a man in a straw hat and a pair of baggy overalls who popped out from behind one of the trees. His weathered face sported a wide grin as he gave us a wave with one gloved hand. I waved back.

"This your orchard?" I said.

"Why, yes!" He looked toward the trees with obvious fondness. "Almost ready for the next harvest, and it's gonna be a bumper crop."

"Good to hear, sir." I pointed up the path. "Say. You don't happen to know the way to Mister Pokémon's house, do you?"

"Why, certainly!" He adjusted his straw hat, pushing it back off his sweating forehead. "The path forks up ahead, and to get to Mister Pokémon's house you can take either path." But then he put one gloved hand to his chin, thick black eyebrows screwing up in thought. "Though on one of them there's a bramble patch a Pokémon would have to cut through, to get to Mister Pokémon. But I can't remember which path it is. Don't go out that way much, myself." He leaned down, hands on knees, to smile at Hotaru. "I don't suppose your little friend there knows Cut, does it?"

"Unfortunately, no." And when Hotaru looked crestfallen, I rushed to add: "But I haven't had a chance to find that HM. She'll learn it once I do, if we think it's the right choice."

Hotaru's head came back up, eyes glittering behind their droopy lids; she peeped jubilantly. HMs, I'd learned, were a special type of move a Pokémon could use outside of battle—just like in the games, really. But Hotaru hadn't learned that yet. It wasn't her fault she didn't know Cut, and I didn't want her thinking any differently about not knowing an advanced field move, either.

The Apricorn farmer laughed and stood up. "Tell you what. I think it's path to the left that goes to Mister Pokémon's house—but be careful. I saw some young kids from Cherrygrove headed that way with their Pokémon this morning. They might want to battle."

The prospect of battling probably would've scared me had we not just taken out a Sentret in short order. I ducked my head in a small bow and hopped off the fence, patting my thigh to tell Hotaru to follow. "Thanks, sir."

"You're welcome," he said. "Oh—before you go." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and rummaged around, tongue jutting from the corner of his mouth in concentration. "You're a bit older than most, but you look the type who's just starting their Pokémon journey."

I blinked at him, startled. "R-really?"

"Oh, yes." He pointed two fingers at his face. "It's in the eyes, you see. And I make a habit of giving a gift to young trainers just starting out."

My hands shot up. "Sir, I couldn't—"

"Nonsense, nonsense; of course you can." He gave a crow of triumph and pulled his hand from his pocket; in it he clutched a green box secured at the front by a small clasp. The top of the box bore six round bumps like the bottom of an egg carton. "Here. It's an Apricorn Box. Keeps them fresh while you travel so you can make them into Poké Balls later. They rot off the vine too quickly to let them rattle around in your pack without a box, you see."

I felt badly, taking it from him, but I summoned my most gracious smile as I accepted his gift. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it," I said as I put the Apricorn Box in my bag.

"You're very welcome, kiddo." He stepped backward, walking into his orchard with a parting wave and a smile full of well-wishes. "You take care now, young lady! And keep an eye out for those trainers I mentioned!"

"I will! Thank you, sir!"

Soon he vanished into the trees, disappearing from sight as quickly as he'd first appeared. I waited a beat to make sure he was really gone before looking down at Hotaru and muttering, "Well, he certainly was giving, wasn't he?"

She looked up and peeped, small mouth almost frowning.

"Adults around here do that, you know," I told her. "Dote on the kids. Even the kids they've never met. And I've always wondered if it's because…"

Hotaru waited a minute, then gave a questioning peep when I did not keep talking. I shook myself and grimaced.

"Sorry," I said. "It's nothing." I pulled my oversize leather jacket tighter around my shoulders. "And if it's something, it's depressing, anyway."

I had theories about why adults were so damn giving in this world, of course—why they were so kind, so nurturing, so _not menacing_ to every kid they came across, but my young friend Hotaru probably wasn't old enough to hear those theories, let alone fully understand them. My mother had never once warned me about Stranger Danger in this world, come to think of it. And I had a hunch as to why, but…

No. Stop. Too depressing.

"Let's move on," I said, both for my own benefit and my Pokémon's, and Hotaru followed where I led without complaint.

We walked on for a bit, and indeed we soon came to a fork in the road—and when I saw it, I felt glad the Apricorn farmer had recommended we take the left-hand path. The path to the left was brightly lit and picturesque, bordered by more white fence that kept the trees at bay, while the path to the right disappeared into shadow… and perhaps even into tall grass. The trees clustered too thick for me to see the path once it fell beneath their gloom, but I got the sense we'd encounter quite a few Pokémon if we took that route. The difference between the paths was striking, as obvious as the contrast between sun and moon, day and night, light and darkness. You could practically hear the _Twilight Zone_ theme music echoing down the right-hand path while the Walt Disney jingle seemed to play over the landscape of the left.

"Yeah, I'm glad we talked to that guy earlier," I said aloud. I bent to look at Hotaru, hands braced on my knees. "You ready, girl? It can't be much further—"

Hotaru and I froze as one, just then, because from down the cheerful left-hand path we heard a sound. Not a sound of breaking twigs or the chatter of a hidden Pokémon, but a shout, a frantic human voice ringing through the trees like a struck bell. For a moment neither of us reacted, staring at each other without moving… but then I swallowed. Took a deep breath.

"Did you hear…?" I said.

Quietly, hesitantly… Hotaru peeped.

And then another pained shout echoed down the left-path, and she and I broke into a run in unison toward the noise.

So much for that Disney jingle, I guess.

Running in a regular prosthetic—especially a brand new one—isn't the easiest of feats. My run involved a lot of staggering and limping, an odd half-hopping gait slowing my stride as I got accustomed to the feel of the ankle joint and the tilt of the rubber foot suspended below my residual limb. Not all prosthetics are built for the same tasks, and mine was certainly not built for cross-country sprinting. Hotaru bunny-hopped ahead and then waited for me to catch a few times, looking over her shoulder with concern as I struggled to keep up the pace, but soon we found ourselves scrambling up an uphill section of the path and having the same amount of trouble with the terrain (her little legs weren't the best for running on slopes, it seems). We crested the top of the uphill section at about the same time, and when I caught sight of people up ahead, I gratefully skidded to a stop on the paved road. My residual limb stung inside its compression sleeve, rubbed a little raw by my mad dash.

I barely felt the pain, however, as I was too distracted by what I saw to think about it.

About a dozen people had gathered up ahead. Ten or so stood in a knot, midway between two kids positioned about thirty feet apart from one another. These kids glared at each other from a distance, tense lines of their shoulders obvious even from far away. Between the kids rushed two Rattata, purple and white bodies a blue of motion as they circled one another, darting this way and that before engaging in battle and breaking apart again. Hotaru peeped, hopping a few feet closer, but I called her back with a low utterance of her name. We were maybe twenty feet away from the fight, and that was good enough for me.

These Rattata, low level though they must have been, did not strike me as things we should get near—because even though they were just Rattata, a chill skated down my neck at the sight of them.

These weren't little baby Pokémon playacting at battle like my Hotaru when she'd faced the Sentret. These Pokémon were playing for keeps, the scope of their fight occupying the entire breadth of the path ahead (which I thought was inconvenient, as we would not be able to pass by, but then I spotted a gap in the fence behind them, and through this gap I saw a huge thicket of thorns taller even than a grown adult, meaning this must be the wrong path, anyway, since it would take Cut to get through that overgrowth—which meant we'd gone the wrong way; nuts!). Hotaru's narrow eyes widened as she watched the battle. The Rattata were quick and agile, leaping over each other and slashing with their small, sharp claws. Their strikes actually hit home, too, gouging pink and red scratches into purple fur when they came together to trade blows. Neither flinched away from the fight, however, gamely trading scratch for scratch and blow for blow.

"So this is what a trainer battle looks like in person, huh," I muttered to myself.

"Peep?" went Hotaru.

"I've only seen a few on TV, and mostly at Ethan's," I said. "Mom doesn't like television much, so…" I studied the trainers, both of whom remained largely silent as their Pokémon fought. The trains watched, eagle-eyed, but they said nothing as one Rattata gouged the other along the flank with a high-pitched shriek. I said, "I guess I thought they'd talk more. Call out moves? But the trainers are pretty quiet, aren't they?"

As if hearing my criticism, the trainer on the right threw out a hand. "Rattata, now!" he said. "Get 'em!"

One of the two Pokémon's ears pricked up. It hunkered down, waiting in place as the other Rattata rushed at it—and then it launched forward at the last second, open mouth aimed at the other's throat. Fangs sank into flesh and the bitten Rattata gave a horrible scream, writhing and flailing as it impaled itself upon the other Pokémon's teeth, and then the attacking Rattata gave a swift shake of its furry head. The scream died as the first Rattata went limp, dropping to the ground with a thump.

It went very quiet, then.

I'm certain people were yelling. I'm certain the crowd watching the match reacted. I saw them moving, saw mouths opening and closing as they talked, but I didn't hear a word. I could only watch in numb horror as one of the boys ran forward, limbs churning as if he moved underwater, to kneel at the side of the downed Rattata.

I don't know how I perceived it from that distance, but I swear I saw bright red ichor splash across the toes of his white tennis shoes.

And then he screamed, and sound rushed back and filled my ears like floodwater, and I could hear again.

"You killed her! You killed her!" the first boy roared. He hefted the Rattata into his arms, cupping her muzzle in his hand as he stared, bereft, into her unmoving face. He turned eyes full of burning accusation toward the other trainer, lips pulling back in a snarl. "You did it on purpose!"

"N-no!" the other boy stammered. His Pokémon walked to his feet and stood at them, staring back over its shoulder at the dead Rattata with expression uncertain. Its trainer held up his hand and said, "I'm—I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

The trainer of the dead Rattata interrupted him, screaming words my unfeeling brain couldn't quite make out. A few of the watching people walked over to him, hands on his back in comfort, but most of them were other kids or teens about my age. What was I supposed to do? Should I got get help? Should I find an adult? A real adult, not me, not the adult in the body of the teen who had no idea what to do or say, how to think or feel, how to—

The Pokémon games had been bloodless.

Pixelated sprites on a flat screen.

Distant and unreal and fictional.

But _this_ —?

What was I supposed to—?

Why was this even—?

Hotaru peeped.

I looked down. She clung to my prosthetic, claws clicking against metal, her shaking body sending vibrations like a distant earthquake up the shank and into the socket, surrounding my leg with tiny shivers I almost couldn't feel through my compression sleeve. Her glittering eyes trained on the site of the battle, wider than I'd ever seen them, wide enough to even see the whites around her dark irises—

The numbness inside me thawed, but it hardened again just as quickly—turning to water and then freezing into hard, solid ice in the space between heartbeats. I bent and scooped Hotaru up as fast as a striking snake, holding her to my chest as I turned on my heel and marched smartly back the way we'd come. The boy's wails followed after us, so I cleared my throat and launched right into a rant to cover that horrific sound.

"I think we ought to take the other path, Hotaru. Don't you think so, too?" I said, tone bright and composed and calm and completely and utterly fake. "And besides. The walk will do us good. No sense spending a sunny day like this just standing around, huh?"

Hotaru was still trembling, still quivering with pain and fear and god knew what else. She peeped into my chest, though the sound broke in the middle like a smashed cup.

I held her a little tighter. Took a deep breath. Brushed my thumb over her head in a soothing circle and made sure my voice didn't shake even _the littlest goddamn bit_ when I kept talking.

"We just met today so you don't know much about me yet," I said, pleasant as a spring day and calm as a summer breeze. "Why don't I tell you about all the costumes I've had over the years, hmm? Or maybe I should just start with explaining costume parties themselves? In any case, I make a great peg-legged pirate, so for most costume parties my mom makes me a—"

I chattered on and on until my voice grew hoarse, smiling and laughing and telling endless, cheerful stories until we found the fork in the road again and took the right-hand path straight into the heart of the deep, dark, Twilight-Zone-theme woods, far away from the scene of the Rattata's unfortunate death and the wails of her sobbing trainer. I asked Hotaru questions, mostly rhetorical, intently listening as, over time, her hesitantly peeped replies grew stronger and less strained. By the time we entered the shade of the woods and dove into the tall grass beyond, Hotaru had stopped shaking like a bundle of leaves in my arms.

For the most part, anyway.

I could only hope she hadn't seen too much, and that the damage done to her wouldn't last any longer than our trip past Cherrygrove.

* * *

NOTES:

 _To keep the player from skipping ahead in the game's plot, G/S/HS/SS places two battling kid-trainers on the path to Violet City, blocking your way forward until you completed the Mister Pokémon quest. I decided to embellish that in-game device and use it as a plot point in my story, as you saw above. This encounter will affect how Hoshiko and Hotaru approach decisions in the future, so keep an eye out._

 _Next chapter: "Mister Pokémon's Cottage," featuring Mister Pokémon, puns, and a particular Pokémon Professor._

 _Oh. So in my game, Hotaru and I fought a few more Pokémon on the way to Mister Pokémon's house (for a total of two Sentrets, three Weedles, and two Pidgeys). She learned the move "smokescreen," which I sort of acknowledged when describing her smoke rings. The reason I didn't novelize those battles and only mentioned them in passing is because they were… boring? She beat everything with a couple of tackles and didn't get hurt much at all, so the battles lacked drama or important character development. I felt the bit with the battling trainers was more worth describing, as it will impact the team moving forward. Would y'all be more interested seeing most/all battles fought, though? I feel like that could get old, and my plan is to describe those random encounter battles only when something juicy happens—like a death, close call, or evolution—but I'm open to feedback in this case!_

 _To sum up: Novelizing a Nuzlocke run isn't as simple as "I fought ten Weedles and went to the next town," and to make this engaging for readers, it's important I'm judicious in what we spend time dwelling on. This is, after all, a story, and not just a log of all the battles I fight while playing._

 _ALSO (this part of the note inspired by zubhanwc3): I have rules for this Nuzlocke (not all of them conventional), but since none but "Pokémon die when they faint" is applicable until Hoshiko becomes able to catch Pokémon, I haven't listed them yet. I will in a few chapters, though!_

 _MANY THANKS to all of you who reviewed since last time! Your comments mean the world to me and I can't thank you enough for your support: CS Stars, zubhanwc3, shen0, Ravyn Moon 1313, Sky65, Blaze1662001, and Mystic Wolf 71891!_


	5. Chapter 5: Mr Pokémon's Cottage (Pt 1)

Warnings: Horrific puns.

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 05:

"Mister Pokémon's Cottage (Part 1)"

* * *

The cottage emerged from the depths of the woods like a coin reflecting light under a veil of murky water. Sitting in a clearing and in bright sunshine, the tile roof gleamed like pewter and copper against a backdrop of dark green forest and pale blue sky. The pink brick of the house ensconced sparkling windows, and against the brick swayed magenta and orange flowers blooming in pristine beds. A white fence kept tall grass and the looming forest at bay, preserving the shaded glen from incorporation into the dark and gloom—and it kept the gigantic bramble patch to the west from creeping in, as well.

We never could have gotten past that patch without Cut.

Turns out the right-hand path had been the right choice all along. "Right is right, right?" I wanted to say, but I bit back the quip and kept it lodged behind my teeth. The right path had looked scary, but the sunny left-hand path had been a nightmare—so joke's on me for judging a book by its cover, I guess. I wished we'd never tried to go on that other path at all. Imagine what could have been avoided if we'd only just gone to the right to begin with.

But dwelling on coulda-woulda-shouldas wouldn't solve my current problem.

Tall grass brushed my thighs; I hefted my backpack a little higher on my shoulders and looked at the tiny Pokémon crouched in my shadow. The red spots on her back glowed faint crimson, the rest of her body almost invisible in the shade of the surrounding woods. "You ready, Hotaru?" I said.

She didn't reply right away—but soon she gave me a sullen, half-hearted peep, and the spots on her back flared in time with her call.

Hotaru had been quiet and subdued ever since the incident on the other path. None of her Weasel War Dances, no cute peeping, no close-eyed smiles or cute and exuberant butt-wiggles to be found. Still, I grinned my absolute widest and tried very hard to shoot rainbows out of my ass as I sunnily called her after me. We walked together to the white fence and through the gate, down a flagstone path and past quite a few gorgeous flower beds like Dorothy and Toto down the Yellow Brick Road. The flowers' perfume was airy and sweet; Hotaru sneezed, a tiny sound as adorable as it was brief, but I tried not to make a big deal of it and instead tried to get a look inside. The front door had a small window set in it, but I couldn't see much through it besides a strip of wooden flooring and the side of a bookcase.

"Well, let's give that door a knock," I said, both for my benefit and for Hotaru's. "Can't be home late for dinner. Mom's making minestrone and you are gonna _love_ it."

Hotaru perked up a little at the mention of food—which meant she was food-motivated, maybe? I filed the observation away and rapped my knuckles on the wooden panel three times. A minute passed, so I knocked again, and this time I was greeted by the sound of a distant voice calling a somewhat frazzled, "Yes, yes, come in!"

At that, Hotaru and I exchanged a Look, but there seemed little else to do aside from opening the door and doing as the voice instructed.

The inside of the cottage reminded me of a fairy story, but mixed with enough sci-fi to render the impression moot after just a moment's observation. The front room of the cottage housed floor-to-ceiling bookcases on every single wall, said cases cut around the windows to allow for the absolute max storage space possible, and from them spilled books—but also dried flowers and herbs, feathers and scales tied onto string, jars of smooth seaglass that seemed to glow in the sun with their own internal radiance. It looked like the home of a magpie-fairy, or it would have if not for the PC on the desk in the corner or the workbench along the back wall that showcased parts of a dissected Sylph Co. watch strewn about beneath an array of magnifying devices. A soldering iron sat smoking next to the watch, clear indication someone had been busy tinkering. Hotaru tilted her nose up and sniffed at the acrid smoke, but she didn't look unhappy about the scent. On the contrary, her eyes seemed to glitter a little brighter, and in her throat bubbled the barest of happy trills.

"You must be Hoshiko!"

I flinched and looked up as a short, older man strode through a door on the other side of the room. He wore a charming bowler hat and a yellow bowtie alongside pinstriped pants and a crisp linen jacket, and on his upper lip sat an absolutely enormous handlebar mustache—a fitting style given his dandy outfit, and I would've been disappointed if he'd had any other kind of mustache as a result. Shiny shoes clicked across the tile floor as he made his way toward us; in his wake toddled a Mr. Mime wearing a pink apron with a yellow sunflower on the front, pudgy hands supporting a tray of empty teacups and saucers dusted with crumbs. At that Pokémon's heels followed an Aipom, who did a series of tight forward rolls across the floor with little shrieks of happiness. The three created quite an unexpected parade through the quaint cottage, though the parade came to an abrupt halt when Mister Pokémon stopped a few feet away from me. The Pokémon bumped into him from behind; he turned gave them a chiding "tut," but a smile threatened the corner of his mouth as the Aipom climbed up Mr. Mime's back and sat on the other Pokémon's shoulder. Mister Pokémon turned to me as the Mr. Mime swatted the Aipom off and began to chase it in circles through the room.

"You must be Hoshiko!" Mister Pokémon repeated, not bothering to get his Pokémon under control. "Elm said you were on your way." He didn't give me time to reply, eyes flicking down to Hotaru even as he spoke. "And what's this? A Cyndaquil?" A delighted laugh boomed from his thin chest, somehow. "That's a very rare Pokémon you have, my girl!"

"Her name is Hotaru," I said—just a little distracted as the Aipom clambered up a bookcase and sent a vase of dead flowers tumbling. The Mr. Mime caught it just in time before it could shatter and shot the Aipom a dirty look, one hand alighting on its cocked hip.

"Hotaru! What a lovely name for a lovely Pokémon." Mister Pokémon clasped his hands together. "But you aren't here to chatter. You're here about my discovery!"

"Yes, sir."

He beamed all the harder. "Right this way; right this way!" But he turned back before he could lead me from room. "Your Pokémon may stay here and play with my Aipom, if she likes."

The aforementioned Aipom (who was busy hanging upside-down from a light fixture) chattered in agreement. Hotaru looked up with an alarmed squeak before darting behind my metal leg, clinging to the shank with clicks of claw against metal. Mister Pokémon frowned at her as her fur bristled, but then he did an impressive double-take in her vague direction.

"Oh-ho!" He bent at the waist, hand cupping his chin. "What's this?"

For a second I thought he was peering down at Hotaru, but then—after six years of staring, scrutiny, and awkward questions—the truth hit me.

He wasn't looking at my Pokémon. He was staring at my _leg_.

I stiffened on reflex, but Mister Pokémon didn't appear to notice. "It's a prosthetic, sir," I said, voice as mechanical as the dissected Sylph Co. watch. "I lost my—"

But he waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, I know what it is—but this must be one of Doctor Malkin's works! How exciting!"

I stepped back on reflex, surprised. "How did you—?"

He laughed as if I'd told a particularly amusing joke. "Why, Malkin is _only_ the foremost prosthetist in all of Johto, my darling girl, though I've never had the pleasure of meeting him." He leaned even closer, though he wasn't so bold as to touch my leg without permission. "His work bears a particular stamp, one I recognized immediately. Just call me a far-away fan." Mister Pokémon straightened up with a laugh and a wink, at that. "Why, yes. I've met many a Pokémon and human alike with a limb of Doctor Malkin's in tow. He's doing good work. We're just lucky he stayed in Johto after the War came to an end. We certainly had great need of him at that dreadful curtain call—but that's neither here nor there. Come!" He spun and marched away, one finger pointing the way ahead. "To my discovery!"

I had to do my patented half-hopping jog to keep up with his brisk stride. He led the way through a door and into a sunny solarium, a long room with a checkered tile floor, a windowed roof and more windows from floor to ceiling. Potted plants sat on racks and stands beneath the panes while ivy and other climbing plants trailed up the heights of trellises leaning against the walls. It smelled of damp earth and lemon furniture polish, but Mister Pokémon paid neither plants nor cleanliness any heed and bee lined instead toward a small table tucked between two towering planters. Upon this table sat a contraption that looked a bit like a bell jar, a dome of glass fitted atop a metal base with a small digital meter affixed to the peak of the glass.

Inside this, on top of a white cushion, sat an egg.

A very, very familiar-looking egg.

My memories of HeartGold might've been hazy, but I remembered Misty's Togepi egg from the anime—and by extension Elm's Togepi egg in the games—well enough to recognize what was happening in front of me.

Mister Pokémon patted the top of the egg capsule with a fond smile, though I was too distracted by the sight of the egg to really pay attention. "A friend of mine from Ecruteak City stopped by last week and delivered this," he said. "Have you ever been to Ecruteak?"

"No," I managed to mumble, "but my mother was born there."

"Ah! Then it's fate, I suppose. You're the perfect person to take this egg back to Professor Elm." He patted the dome again. "I'm convinced it's the egg of a new species of Pokémon, you see." Through the glass he traced the telltale red and blue triangles decorating the pale white shell. "I've done meticulous research and can find no record of an egg with this shell pattern, but Elm might be able to crack the case—pun intended."

The pun roused me from my stupor a little. " _Egg_ -cellent pun, sir," I said, because even in my addled state I just couldn't resist.

He chortled. "Yes. I really… _scrambled_ for it," said Mister Pokémon, who clearly couldn't resist, either.

" _Omelet_ you finish," I said, "but my pun really was the better of the two."

"Oh-ho!" He grinned. "But tell me, girl, which came first?"

I frowned. He stared at me. I shook my head.

"Get it?" he said, smile eager and hopeful. "Which came first? The Pokémon or the egg, and my pun came first, and…?"

"Oh!" I snapped my fingers. "Yeah, I get it now! Good one."

"That's all right. Perhaps it was a reach," he said, looking a little crestfallen.

"Hey, don't feel so down," I said. "Look on the sunny side—up."

A beat passed, and then his face reddened and he burst out laughing. His hands braced on his knees as he giggled. "Oh, oh, Elm really did send a winner, didn't he?"

"I mean." I shrugged, though internally I patted my pun-game on the back. "I'm a little biased, so don't ask me."

"Well, I am not biased, and I think he did. He is, after all, quite the brilliant man." Mister Pokémon held a finger aloft and dipped his voice low, mimicking someone I couldn't place. "'He is the best when it comes to the research of Pokémon evolution,' it's been said—hasn't it, Professor Oak?"

From behind him, around the corner of another doorway, a voice said, "Indeed it has."

I flinched, startled, but Mister Pokémon just laughed. "And _he_ would know, considering I just quoted him." He gestured at the shadowy doorway that had apparently just gained sentience and spoken. "Hoshiko, meet Professor Oak—a true forerunner in the realm of Pokémon research."

And with that, Professor Oak stepped into the light.

Even though I hadn't been expecting him, he looked exactly as I expected: Tall, with grey hair and severe features and a pristine white lab coat worn over a red shirt. Although he smiled, a sharpness colored his dark eyes, like perhaps he saw more than I did in the warm solarium, observed things I couldn't fathom and made mental connections I could never dream to forge. I shrank as his eyes swept over me, unable to keep from wondering what he saw in my unkempt hair and in the runs that had opened across the sock I wore on my bio-leg. He only smiled, though, and didn't seem to dwell on my cosmetic imperfections, an action (or a lack of one) for which I felt grateful.

"Oak, this is Hoshiko, the one I told you was coming on behalf of Professor Elm," Mister Pokémon continued.

"Indeed." Oak held out a hand for me to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Hoshiko."

"It's—nice to meet you, too," I said.

I almost didn't shake his hand, I was so distracted by the sight of him—not just because of his critical eyes, but also because the implications of his presence. Was my memory of the games playing tricks, or had Oak been present when the protagonist of HeartGold met Mister Pokémon? But if that was true, that would mean this errand… it was _the_ errand. This was the true start of HeartGold. And that meant—

"Professor, I want to show you." Mister Pokémon gestured at my leg; a flash of self-consciousness broke my train of thought in half. "Young Hoshiko benefits from the work of Doctor Edward Malkin." He scuttled forward and pointed at my leg; to Oak he delivered an enormous, eager smile. "You see? Are you familiar with his work?"

"I am," said Oak—but he paused, staring at me with those critical eyes of his. "Wait. 'Hoshiko?'" He paused again, and after a moment he looked at me with renewed interest. "You're not Hoshiko _Rose_ , are you?"

"Eh? Rose?" said Mister Pokémon. He turned to me, brows raised. "The email said your surname is Uehara."

"Um." I scratched the back of my neck, even more self-conscious now. "My last name is Uehara—but it used to be Rose." Or so they told me; I had only ever been conscious in this body with the surname of 'Uehara.' But for the benefit of the two men, I (perhaps redundantly) clarified: "It used to be Rose, but it changed to Uehara recently."

"It did?" said Mister Pokémon, confused.

"After your father died, I take it," said Oak, who apparently wasn't confused at all.

Mister Pokémon then did a double-take at Oak (really, he was very good at comedic double-takes) and proceeded to look infinitely stricken and extremely awkward, staring down at his shoes and avoiding eye contact like the plague. Oak, however, hadn't been rude when he'd mentioned the death of my father. He hadn't spoken with the nosey acidity of a person repeating gossip. No, he wore a look of grim sadness when he spoke, an elusive look of regret and sorrow of a profound nature that defies all but the most cursory of descriptions. I didn't feel put on the spot by what he'd said, as Mister Pokémon clearly assumed I felt. Instead I felt… comforted, perhaps.

Call me crazy, but that look in Oak's eyes said he knew the pain of losing someone important. And that meant he wasn't being rude, but rather honest, which immediately endeared him to me. Frankness is a virtue.

"That's correct," I said. "I have my mother's last name, now." But something else he'd said piqued my curiosity. "Did you know my father?"

It wasn't an idle question. My mother rarely spoke of my father, and Malkin spoke of his even less despite being my father's best friend, and for a moment I held out the hope Oak might finally provide a little information about the elusive man Hoshiko had lived with before I assumed her place in this world. No one liked to talk about him; perhaps now was a time for answers about the man who'd raised Hoshiko, but whom I knew absolutely nothing about.

No such luck, though. My hopes dashed completely when Oak said, "No. But I knew of him, and I've read some of his work. He was a researcher and lecturer at Goldenrod University. Math and physics as applied to Pokémon technology."

"That's right," I said, trying not to look disappointed. I knew all of that already, after all.

Something in Oak's expression cleared; maybe he'd thought he'd upset me, too. "Your father is dearly missed by the academic community. I host a radio show from a studio in Goldenrod, and I confess when I heard of the incident—" His eyes darted to my leg; regret clouded thick in his expression, then. "But never mind." He turned his eyes away. "Mister Pokémon, I've interrupted. Please continue."

Mister Pokémon looked relieved, to put it mildly. He cleared his throat and adjusted his smart bowtie. "Hoshiko, I'd like for you to deliver this egg to Professor Elm back in New Bark Town," he said, acting as if the talk of parental death had never occurred in his hearing. "It's important Elm examine it, and if he says he trusts you, then that is good enough for me." His eyes widened, watery and pleasing. "Well, my dear girl. What do you say?"

My insecurities and worries all came back at the sound of his request: Was this _the_ errand? If it was, and I said yes, would Lyra lose her shot to be the protagonist? Would I throw off the entire game if I took this egg to Elm?

There was no way to know for sure, I thought, so I wandered to the egg. Stared at it. Traced the red and blue triangles on its shell with my eyes, as if to read the truth in their off kilter pattern. All I got for my trouble was a pair of crossed eyes, though, and soon Mister Pokémon cleared his throat.

"It's quite safe in its container," Mister Pokémon said. "You don't have to worry about breaking if, if that's what you're worrying about."

Nuts. There went that excuse—one that hadn't occurred to me to even try and capitalize on. Dammit, was there any way to get out of this? I turned to the egg and stared at it again, trying not to let Mister Pokémon's own stare drill a hole in my neck. He kept beaming at me the way he had been, expectant and full of hope. In fact, he took off his hat and held it in both hands over his chest, almost giving me watery puppy-eyes as I thought about my answer. Not that formulating one was easy for me. There were precious few excuses I could give to back out of carrying the egg that wouldn't disappoint Elm, Malkin, and now Mister Pokémon, too. I'd come so far to get here and I'd have to go back to New Bark Town anyway; refusing to transport the egg when I was going back to New Bark no matter what would just look weird. But this was _the_ Togepi egg, as far as I could tell. Did I even have a right to take it for myself?

Unless it _wasn't_ the Togepi egg. I'd only seen a few episodes of the anime. I could be imagining the Togepi shell pattern. I could be mis-remembering it, or projecting my worries onto the egg like a projector onto a blank canvas.

Only, I knew I wasn't doing that.

I knew I remembered that damn shell pattern.

But I could still hope I was wrong, and in the event that I wasn't—well. I'd carry the egg back to New Bark and worry about passing it off to its rightful holder as soon as the time came.

Yeah. That's what I'd do: I'd carry out this part of the plot, then give the egg to whoever needed it when the time came. Perfect compromise—or at least the best one I could concoct on short notice.

Whatever the case, it would have to do. And that meant the time for stalling was over.

I squared my shoulders. Took a deep breath. Looked Mister Pokémon in the eye and said, "Sure. I'd be happy to help."

He clapped, practically lighting up like a firefly. "Egg-cellent!" he said with an overstated wink—but he squashed the jovial look and pasted on a face of pure business, though one worn askew over an expression of pure joy. "Now, I trust you, but I'd like to put a few safeguards in place. Let me just draw up some paperwork—"

It was my turn to do a double-take. "Paperwork?!"

"—and I will be right back!" he said, and he scampered back into the depths of the house with all the bubbly enthusiasm of his rambunctious Aipom.

He had no way of knowing I'd just sealed some version of fate for myself.

I had no way of knowing what I'd done, either. But I'd find out soon enough.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Next time: A conversation with Professor Oak, a gift, and more on Hotaru's mental state._

 _Didn't intend to split this into two chapters, but the conversation she'll have with Oak wound up much longer than expected. So, I split the events at Mister Pokémon's house into two chapters that are a bit more bite-size._

 _Many thanks to all those who reviewed since my last update! C. S. Stars, KnightLawn, Blaze1662001, jonrich31, Deamachi, TrainerIndigo, and Vixeona!_


	6. Chapter 6: Mr Pokémon's Cottage (Pt 2)

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 06:

"Mister Pokémon's Cottage (Part 2)"

* * *

Somewhere in the depths of the cottage (not that cottages are large enough to have depths, usually, but whatever) Mister Pokémon hummed to himself, a jaunty little tune I didn't recognize. The solarium was quiet but for the sound of my feet shuffling across the tile. Eventually Oak cleared his throat; I looked up at him, and when our eyes met we traded an awkward smile on reflex. We looked away equally awkwardly. I'm not sure either of us had prepared to converse solo, and Mister Pokémon had left us very much alone.

Well. Almost alone. Hotaru sat in silence by my feet, muzzle resting atop her paws as she hunkered on the cold floor. I almost knelt to pet her but refrained at the last second—mostly because just then there came movement in the doorway, and then the Aipom toddled into the room carrying a bright yellow ball. The creature's eyes lit up when it saw Hotaru; it darted forward with a merry chatter, eager and ready to play.

Hotaru, however, wanted no such thing. She was on her feet in seconds, skittering to hide behind my legs as a stripe of fur along her back rose straight up (huh, interesting; I hadn't realized she could do that). Paws grasped my bio-leg through my sock, nails pricking against my Achilles tendon; her lips pulled back off her teeth as she gave a hiss and the red spots on her back glowed bright, and from her nostrils leaked two thin streamers of misty white smoke. Cinnamon and burnt wood cut the air like a warning sign. The Aipom certainly took it as such. It stopped in its tracks and stared a Hotaru above the ball in its hands, eyes wide with shock and alarm.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," I murmured to Hotaru, and then to Oak I whispered, "Does the Aipom have a nickname?"

He cupped his chin, paused, and said: "Her name is Banana, I believe."

"Of course that's her name," I muttered. I knelt and placed a hand on Hotaru's back. Her fur felt hot, even hotter than usual. "Hotaru, this is Banana, and I'm sure she's very nice. Why don't you say hello?"

Hotaru looked up at me through her narrow eyes, but she did not move toward Banana. Banana, meanwhile, hiccupped, and her enormous eyes filled with tears. Oh, god, this wasn't good.

"I'll be right here," I assured Hotaru as I stroked her head with my thumb. "This is a—a _good_ place for making friends." I'd almost called it a 'safe' place, but calling it 'safe' implied there was danger elsewhere; it would be better for Hotaru if I didn't imply there was anything to be afraid of at all. Smiling at her, I waved my other hand at Professor Oak. "I just made two friends. That's Professor Oak, and making friends was a ton of fun." At that, I gestured at Banana. "Why don't you try making a friend for yourself?"

For a moment, Hotaru didn't move—but then the claws pricking my ankle eased up a bit. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, she let go of me and placed all four paws on the floor.

"That's right, sweetheart," I said. "Making friends is fun!"

With aching slowness, she put one paw in front of the other, inching her way to my side instead of behind my legs. I kept my hand on her, feeling when she tensed as Banana the Aipom put the ball on the ground and rolled it in Hotaru's direction. Hotaru stared at the ball with expression baleful, but then (after another look of reassurance from me) she nudged it with her long nose. The ball rolled to Banana, and then Banana rolled it back, and with every return of the ball Hotaru became just a little more exuberant. Eventually she made one of her happy-peeps, darting after the ball when it rolled wide. Aipom chattered in delight, scooped up the ball and bolted from the room, and on reflex Hotaru made to follow.

She stopped, however, at the doorframe. Looked over her shoulder at me. Peeped in question, suddenly unsure of herself.

"It's OK!" I said with a grin. I shooed her away with my hands. "Go on, go play. I'm just a room away if you need me."

One final moment's hesitation before Hotaru peeped at me before running after Banana. Relief filled my chest as she disappeared around the corner; I put a hand to my heart and stood up at last, both knees smarting, the end of my residual limb aching a bit from the odd position. Hotaru had made a friend. That had to count for something in regard to her mental wellbeing, didn't it? And especially after the day we'd had—

"She trusts you."

I flinched, but it was only Oak. He looked me up and down with interest; I tucked my hair behind my ears and swallowed. "Ah. Yeah. Seems that way," I told him. "I've only had her for a few hours, but she's shaping up to be a real sweetheart."

Another of his long, assessing stares. "It's somewhat irregular for a Pokémon to rely on a trainer in so short a time. Not unheard of, but… irregular." Finally he smiled, features softening at last. "You'll raise any Pokémon you catch with kindness and affection, if Hotaru is any indication."

"Well… they're kind of like little people, y'know?" I scratched the back of my neck, embarrassed by my sentiment. "They're so insightful. It would be horrible to disrespect them with poor treatment." I drew in a breath, fists clenching by my thighs. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly," said Oak.

"Is it… normal, for Pokémon to die in battles?"

Oak's eyes widened. I looked down at the floor. Maybe I shouldn't have asked that, but having the most famous Pokémon professor standing in the same room… well. It was tough not to bombard him with queries.

Not that Oak seemed to mind. He stroked his chin again, looking toward the door where Hotaru had gone. "Her reticence to play with Aipom…" He trailed off, smile fading as he gave me yet another look of inquiry. "I take it Hotaru witnessed something disturbing?"

"Earlier this afternoon," I confirmed. Amazing how insightful Oak was. "Not too far from here. Two kids battling, and one of their Pokémon…" The words wouldn't come. I swallowed and shook my head. "I tried to keep her from seeing, but I didn't make it in time."

Oak nodded. "You were right to maintain a positive demeanor when encouraging her earlier."

"Yeah. I was being careful," I said. "I didn't acknowledge that there could be any danger so her mind wouldn't jump straight to that, but…" A new thought occurred. "Say. Can I ask another question?"

Oak's lips twitched. "I haven't answered your first."

"Yeah, about that. I thought about it, and honestly, I don't want to know."

"Perhaps that's wise." Sincerity lit his gaze from within. "I hope you never find out of your own accord, for the record."

"Me, too." Deep breath in, deep breath out. "So. How much human speech do Pokémon understand, anyway? I get the sense Hotaru knows what I'm saying but perhaps is more in tune with the emotions behind my words than she is with the words themselves. Are Pokémon capable of understanding metaphorical or otherwise intangible concepts, especially when conveyed in stark language, or is their understanding limited in some capacity?"

The words had come out in a rush, a glutted stream pouring down a mountainside. Oak's eyebrows had climbed higher and higher with every word, and when I fell quiet, he coughed lightly into his fist.

"Interesting question. Or questions, rather," he said. "But, tell me. What do _you_ think?"

"I think…" My eyes screwed up as I looked toward the ceiling and organized my thoughts. "I think it varies between Pokémon species as well as individuals within specie types. And their age and placement in their overall evolutionary line probably affects their ability to recognize and understand human language, too. Hotaru is just a baby, so I assume as she grows and evolves, her breadth and depth of understanding will increase as her raw mental processing power increases." I shrugged. "Much like human children, I suppose."

Oak didn't confirm that. He just _looked_ at me until I started fidgeting under the weight of that evaluating stare. It was tough to read Oak, I was learning, which meant it came as a surprise when he did not answer me and instead asked: "What do you want to be when you come of age? What profession?"

"Uh." I rubbed at the back of my head, caught off guard. "I haven't really given it much thought, to be honest." And that was true. This world was still too full of mysteries for me to know what role I wanted to play in it.

Not that Oak had any such reservations. "A Pokémon researcher would be a good fit, if you're looking for recommendations," he said with a broad smile. "When it comes time, do let me know how I can be of assistance."

My hands shot up, as if to swat away his offer like a fly. "Oh, I don't know about—"

"You're considering concepts that are very advanced for your age, Hoshiko," he said with no more gravity than perhaps he'd use to discuss the weather. "People in this world often take the abilities of their Pokémon for granted. Your depth of consideration for a Pokémon's abilities, especially at your age, is impressive."

My teeth clamped around my tongue. Oak wouldn't be so impressed if he knew I'd been wondering about these questions, and many more, for 28-plus-six years. I was really a 34-year-old Pokémon fangirl at heart, not an immature 16-year-old just starting her journey, and I had the intellect to match. In short, I was cheating, and he had no idea that these topics had likely occurred to all Pokémon fans a million times and that his impression of my intelligence was based mostly on faulty assumptions.

Not that I could correct his assumptions in a way that didn't make me sound insane, of course. Icky though it made me feel, his mistaken evaluation of my aptitude would have to stay intact. For now, anyway. Until I said something stupid and proved him wrong.

Oak, not understanding the true source of my hesitance, held up a placating hand. "You don't have to decide right away," he said, "but to answer your question—I agree with most of your theories, various minor nuances notwithstanding. For example, an Alakazam is more intelligent than a Rattata, and some Rattatas are more intelligent than others of their specie or more advanced members of their evolutionary line. Some Rattatas might prove to be exceptional, even, and outsmart other species typically considered more intelligent. Age and experience also play factors in determining Pokémon intelligence." His eyes took on a luminous quality as he talked, glimmering with the passion of a person in their element. "The world of Pokémon does not exist in black and white, but in myriad shades of grey."

"That's what I'm learning." My eyes wandered to the egg in its incubation capsule. "I wonder what that Pokémon will be able to understand once it's hatched. Not to mention what it will understand once it evolves. To study the life cycle of a Pokémon from hatching to maturation… that would be fascinating." I scowled, and my next statement held two meanings, only one of which was obvious to Oak. I said, "Now, if only I knew what was actually in this egg…"

"Would you like to help me find out?"

I looked at Oak with brows dangerously close to my hairline. "Eh?"

Oak put his hands in his pockets, feet spreading under him in a stance that conveyed both power and determination. "I don't do this lightly, Hoshiko, but I am an excellent judge of character—especially when it comes to the potential of Pokémon trainers. Your interactions with your starter, your ability to comfort her, your insight into Pokémon… I think you would be an excellent candidate to carry a Pokédex as you go on your Pokémon journey."

My stomach dropped into the soles of my feet. For a minute I hoped I had misheard him, but at the resolute tint to his eyes, I realized I most certainly had not.

Oak had just offered me a Pokédex.

I really was in HeartGold now, wasn't I?

Oak confirmed my unspoken question when he pulled a hand from his pocket. On it lay a device made of red metal, buttons adorning the cover and the small black scanner-camera-thing at the top of the device. I hadn't seen a Pokédex in person yet in this life, but I knew there was little else this contraption could be.

"I happen to be carrying the latest version of the Pokédex right now," Oak said. He stepped forward, flipping the Dex's cover aside to show me the screen hidden beneath. "Here, let me show you. It records data about—"

He explained what the Dex was for and how to use it, not knowing I already knew all of the basics (though the fact that the scanner could record my fingerprint, so no one could steal the Dex and use it for themselves, was news to me). He didn't tell me much I didn't already know, or much I hadn't learned by living in this world for the past six years. Apparently lots of kids who go on journeys end up with a Dex, but not until relatively late in their travels—not until it's known they can be trusted, typically after they earned their fourth badge or so. The Pokédexes were till experimental technology, in some respects, and difficult to produce, reserved for the young trainers most capable of using them. And here I was, getting one instead of Lyra.

If she showed up out of the blue, would there be a Dex for her to claim anymore?

"The Pokémon Challenge might not be for you, Hoshiko."

I looked up from the Dex, wonderings and worries falling to the wayside. Oak stared with unmistakable gravity, grey eyes heavy and urgent.

"I do not think you would enjoy undergoing the Pokémon League Challenge, nor do I think you would be particularly good at it," he said. My mouth dried a bit at this criticism. I started to protest, but—no. I wanted to hear his reasoning. He continued, "You are an empathetic, kind person. I'm not certain battling will be your forte. I think you might find it difficult, and, at the very least, distasteful." He smiled, though the weight in his gaze did not lessen. "But I do encourage you to travel and see the world, and to record data about as many Pokémon as you can." And then the smile became genuine. "If you decide to become a researcher one day, as I hope you might, your data on your journey could lead you to an important discovery."

It was… not the easiest pill to swallow, the idea that Professor Oak thought it was obvious—after knowing me for five minutes—that I'd be a crap battler, but I couldn't find it in me to disagree, that knee-jerk urge to contradict him dwindling with every moment I considered his words. If battling was anything like that fight between trainers, I doubted I'd enjoy myself much at all. He was right: I found the thought of Pokémon death distasteful, and a journey to the League would no doubt be full of it.

So… I didn't contradict him.

"Maybe so," was all I said, and I tucked the Pokédex into the inside pocket of my jacket. "Thank you for your thoughts."

"You are very welcome," said Oak. "I look forward to seeing your findings." He put a hand on my shoulder, expression earnest—like a kindly uncle who was worried about their errant niece. Somehow I got the sense he thought of all young trainers that way. He said to me, "Everything I said aside, I know you'll do well, Hoshiko." A wink, so slight I almost missed it. "I'm a good judge of these things, after all."

We stood there in silence for a minute, maintaining eye contact. In the other room I heard Hotaru peep and burble, happily playing with Banana out of sight. Yeah. Oak was probably right about me. He was a good judge of character. Nobody with those eyes of his could be anything but shrewd—and yet, I hoped he was wrong.

For the sake of my Pokémon and their wellbeing, he needed to be at least a little wrong.

Before I could ask him more questions, or get tips about how to battle safely (surely he had some of those for me, right?) Mister Pokémon bustled back into the room with a folder in his hand. He placed it open on the table by the egg and proffered a pen from his jacket pocket. It gleamed silver in the watery solarium light, and when I took it, it felt like cool water between my fingers.

"Now, Hoshiko," he said. "These are just basic liability forms, nothing to be scared of. If you'll just sign here…"

He pointed at a few lines and boxes, which I dutifully scrawled with my name (it didn't look like a signature—I still spelled it out letter by letter, never accustomed to my name in this new life). Vaguely I wondered if this was legal since I was just 16, but then again, this world liked to send young people hurtling into danger even underage. Maybe it didn't matter if the danger was legal or physical. I tried not to think about it as I wrote my name where Mister Pokémon bade, and soon I'd signed every box he wanted. I put the cap on the pen and slung my backpack off my shoulder, and into this Elm carefully loaded the egg in its incubator.

"The capsule contains internal pneumatic stabilizers, so you don't have to worry about jostling the egg," he said as he held up the pack and helped me shrug into it. "Walk or run as you would normally, though perhaps don't do any flips or somersaults. Not unless you want eggs scrambled!" He chuckled at his own joke as I turned to face him. "Elm will know how to release the egg, so once you reach New Bark you'll want to go straight to—"

He never got to finish. Just then my PokéGear buzzed on my wrist, a tiny alarm blaring loud in the still, quiet room. Mister Pokémon looked annoyed, but he didn't complain as I held the screen up and read the caller ID.

"I'm sorry. It's Elm." I pointed at the watch. "Do you mind if I—?"

At the mention of Elm, Mister Pokémon's expression cleared. "Why, of course!" he said.

Beside him, Oak gave a nod. "Do tell him hello for me, will you?"

"Sure." I thumbed the Talk button and put it on speaker for good measure. "Hi, Professor. You'll never guess who I ran into up here—"

"Hoshiko?!" Elm interjected. His voice quavered and broke. "Oh, oh, it's just terrible, just _terrible!_ "

I stared at the watch, taken aback and speechless. "Wh-what?"

"You need—you need to come back here right now. Right now!" He let out a low moan, frantic and pained. "Oh, it's just terrible, just—!"

The line went dead.

A moment of silence followed.

Hotaru and Banana peered around the door into the room, heads stacked like the protagonists of Scooby Doo hunting for a monster.

And then everyone began to talk at once.

"I'm so sorry," I said, heart beating hard inside my chest, "but I think I need to—"

But Oak was saying, "Hoshiko, you need to leave right now—"

And Mister Pokémon was babbling in a high, reedy tone of voice, "Good heavens, a crisis! Well, hop to it, my girl! Get the leg out and—"

"It was really nice meeting both of you," I cut in as I backpedaled toward the door, "I'm so sorry, I just, goodbye and thank you so much for everything, I'll be sure to use the Pokédex, goodbye—"

I bolted from the room, their voices carrying behind me every step.

For a good while, I forgot that what happened next was a part of the canon plot. I confess such observations completely slipped my mind. All I could think about was the terror in Elm's voice, and of his cry for help, and my meta thoughts scattered to the wind as I scooped Hotaru up, bid Banana an absent goodbye, and frantically ran down the path toward home.

* * *

NOTES:

 _In the games, there's very little reason Oak gives the player a Pokédex. He just says "you have a rare Pokémon, you're kind to it, and you seem dependable." And then he hands over the Dex like it's no more valuable than a piece of dime store candy. WHAT?_

 _Anyway. Having her show she's kind through her actions, prove she's dependable by offering to help Mister P, and demonstrate she's a thoughtful person Oak could rely on to make good choices seemed like a more believable alternative to canon. But I tried to balance that by having Oak deem her probably not the best battler (which I think I'd be crap at in real life, tbh) so hopefully this isn't too perfect of a resolution and feels realistic. I'm 28 IRL, so Hoshiko would be a bit more mature for her age than your average 16 year old and, as a result, would likely impress Oak… even if her supposed intellect is mostly a lie._

 _Too bad Oak doesn't realize those questions about Pokémon have probably occurred to everyone who's played the games, and she isn't quite as insightful as she appears…_

 _Next chapter: Silver. Face to face._

 _MANY THANKS to all those who commented after the previous chapter! You made my day with your thoughts and comments, and I'm utterly floored every time one of you is so kind. Thanks so much to the following glorious humans: Trainer Indigo, sky65, rickrossed, and C. S. Stars!_


	7. Chapter 7: Cherrygrove City, Outskirts

Warnings: Low-level Pokémon battle violence

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 07:

"Cherrygrove City, Outskirts"

* * *

Cupped by a bay to the south and west, bordered by nigh impenetrable forest to the north, the eastern edge of Cherrygrove City lay behind the protective rise of a high brick wall. Midway down the wall stood an arch, enormous doors of solid oak propped open to allow unrestricted passage into the Route beyond. The gates rarely shut anymore since the War ended. My mother had told me that on one of our occasional trips to town. Cherrygrove had a more robustly stocked supermarket than did New Bark Town, and Mom needed special root vegetables from Ecruteak to make my favorite kind of stew. Sometimes, Mom said, they shut the gates on spring nights when Pokémon got rowdy and Sentret knocked over too many trash cans, but otherwise they remained open and unbarred.

I was no Sentret, of course. I sprinted through the heart of Cherrygrove and to that massive gate, thirty feet high and daunting but standing open for me, with Hotaru clenched snug under my arm. Her short legs couldn't keep up with even my tilted stride, that awkward half-hopping run made necessary by my prosthetic, so I'd scooped her up and carried her shortly after leaving Mister Pokémon's secluded cottage. She peeped in confusion as we neared the arch, her little body warm against my side—but just as the cold shadow of the gate fell over us, from the gloom of the forest of Route 29 emerged a figure. I skidded to a stop, limb stinging in the socket of my prosthetic, and gently put Hotaru on the ground.

His red hair, brilliant even in darkness, contrasted wildly against the greenery at his back. His dark suit blended with the shade, but as he stepped forward a lance of sunlight speared the canopy of leaves above and crossed his face. Silver eyes narrowed when they lit upon me, their color as cold as brushed steel.

"You again," said Silver, nose wrinkling in disgust.

I scowled back, peeved at the annoyed expression on his face; it wasn't like I'd actually done anything to deserve it. Not yet, at least. I inclined me head and tried to look down my nose when I declared, "Yeah. Me."

Silver huffed, derisive and dismissive and mocking, but I didn't say anything. My fists balled at my side as he came forward, completely into the light, and stopped maybe ten feet from me on the edge of Route 34. We stood in the shadow of the gate, staring at each other, the hum of voices and engines and wind floating up from Cherrygrove City at my back. Silver watched me as if expecting an attack, gaze as shrewd as it was cold, but I didn't budge.

I had a million and one questions to ask him, but breath ran ragged in my heaving chest. Sweat trickled down my neck and onto my chest, cold where it sank into the fabric of my shirt. My prosthetic nearly rattled around my on-fire limb; had the sleeve shifted during my mad dash to get here? No matter the case, I'd have blisters by the time I reached home, I was sure of it. This model wasn't built for sustained running, and I wasn't used to it, and—

Focus, girl.

A million and one questions, remember?

Too bad for me that between the stitch in my side and the fire on my leg, all my questions had fled like leaves scattered by a breeze.

Silver seemed the impatient sort, luckily or unluckily for me. He looked me up and down, eyes lingering on my prosthetic, before looking at Hotaru with equal disdain. At her he sneered, "Get out of my way."

I swallowed, trying to get my breathing under control. "N-no," I said. "I won't."

"Oh- _ho_." He let out a scornful laugh. "So you're the hero type, huh? And let me guess. You're after this?"

One hand emerged from his pocket.

In his fingers sat a Poke Ball.

It took me a minute to realize what the heck he was talking about, and when it hit me, I resisted the urge to kick myself. As soon as I saw him, I'd remembered the cryptic comment he'd made when we first met, and I'd forgotten about the Elm business. It had just been me and Silver, not to mention my million questions. But Silver, it seemed, had followed canon and had stolen a Pokémon from Elm right on schedule. That was why Elm had called me back, I remembered suddenly, and I needed to keep that in mind.

This world didn't revolve around me. I needed to play my part as best I could.

So, in light of that, I squared my feet (limb smarting) and lifted my chin higher. "You stole that," I said with a nod at the Poké Ball. "Give it to me."

But Silver just laughed again. "Nah. I don't think I will." He tossed the ball up and down a few times, taunting me, but soon his eyes hardened and he clenched the Ball tight in his fist. "Not get out of my way, or I'll—"

"Lyra," I blurted.

He stopped talking. One red brow lifted. "Hmm?"

Honestly, the name had startled me as much as it had startled him (if it had startled him at all). I hadn't meant to blurt that, but the word had forced itself out of my mouth, anyway. Oh well. No going back now. "When we first met," I said. "You said 'You're not Lyra' when you saw me."

Silver scratched his cheek, eyes traveling skyward. "Did I?" he said.

"Yes," I said, not buying his innocent act even for a second. "Why did you say that to me?"

"No idea." Silver shrugged. "I don't remember."

My jaw dropped, but I recovered quickly enough—and in place of surprise came hot, bright anger. "Bull _shit_ you don't remember," I spat. "Cut the crap and just tell me."

But Silver just shrugged again, lip curling in a smile that did not touch his eyes. "Sorry. Not in the habit of remembering interactions with girls I don't know from Adam."

"I think you know more than you're letting on, actually." Time to go out on a limb. Steeling myself, I looked him dead in the eye and asked, "Are you like me?"

"Ha!" Silver tossed his hair. "I am _nothing_ like a weakling like you."

"Not like that. I mean…" I considered my words with care. Slowly said, each word a choice in and of itself: "Are you not from around here? Are you maybe older than you look?"

Too bad for me, Silver's reaction wasn't easy to read. He just smiled, chin tucking low as he laughed at what had to be a private joke—because I certainly didn't see a reason to grin just then. He chuckled low in his chest before looking back up at me with a muttered, "You really _are_ clueless." His eyes hardened, laughter dying as quickly as it had been birthed. Silver took a step toward me, glaring, and said, "Now move."

But I did not obey. "I'll get out of your way if you stop dodging and tell me what I want to know," I said.

I expected him to yell. Maybe shove me aside, brush past like I was an annoying fly. Instead he gave me a long, measuring stare before smirking and holding his Poké Ball back up again. "How 'bout we make a little wager?" Silver said. "You beat me in a battle, I'll answer one of your stupid questions. Sound good?"

"Sounds _great_ ," I growled—but then, with a guilty bite of my lip, I looked down. "Hotaru. Are you up for this?"

Because it wasn't up to me, whether or not we battled today. Hotaru needed to have a choice in this, too, especially after the morning she'd had. If she didn't feel comfortable battling now, or ever, I wouldn't make her. That was too cruel a fate to foist on a living, breathing, sentient creature. I watched with bated breath as Hotaru sat up on her haunches, her head craning in my direction. For a second she didn't reply, but then her mouth open. The beginnings of a peep built in her throat.

The sound faded when, from in front of us, I heard the telltale digital chime of a Poké Ball being activated. I looked up to see a burst of red light congeal into the form of a small, blue Pokémon, a row of red spines running up its back alongside beautiful aquamarine scales shimmering with an opalescent sheen. Although it faced its trainer and not us, I didn't need the Pokédex in my pocket to tell me this was Elm's Totodile—the one I'd nearly picked over Hotaru when choosing my starter.

Guilt, hotter than even Hotaru's internal flames, seized my heart in a vice.

Hotaru didn't need any help recognizing the Pokémon, either. As soon as he popped out of his Ball, she froze. Her eyes widened. Another peep built in her throat, this one uncertain and pitiful and small. She watched without moving as the Totodile toddled forward on its small legs and headed for its trainer, clinging to Silver's leg with its clawed hands like a kid clinging to a parent's calf.

Silver shook his head. He bent and picked his Pokémon up under the armpits. Lifted the Totodile and set it down, facing us. The Totodile kept its eyes locked on Silver all the while, fanged alligator mouth turning down at the corners when Silver pointedly sternly forward, wordlessly telling the Pokémon to get to work.

Hotaru gave another of her tiny, confused peeps.

I bent, leg shifting in my prosthetic's socket with a feeling like hot sandpaper. "Hotaru," I said, reaching for her. "Hotaru, it's OK if you—"

Hotaru didn't wait for me to finish. She hopped forward, out from under my hand, and headed for the Totodile.

The Totodile spotted Hotaru, then, too. Its frown faded, eyes curving with a smile as it tromped forward on comically large feet towards my Pokémon. They met midway between Silver and I, Hotaru's pointed nose rising to snuffle at the blue Pokémon's round belly. It beamed at her with a little creaking whine (the sound you'd get if a baby crocodile got crossed with a teddy bear, I reckoned) and patted her head with one if its paws. Hotaru's back-spots flared with heat; she peeped a reply, a happy sound of recognition, hopping forward to get even closer—

"Blue." Silver's voice cracked through the air like a whip. "Get your head in the game, boy."

Blue looked over his shoulder at Silver. Looked back at Hotaru. Gave a sad little grumble, patted Hotaru's head again, and slinked away toward Silver. Hotaru watched him go until he reached Silver's side, then gave a sad little trill of her own and hopped back to me. She hunkered on the ground by my feet as once again I knelt, brushing my hand over her domed head as I tried to comfort her.

"Hey," I said, tone gentle. "I'm sorry—are you two friends?"

Hotaru hesitated... but then she gave a small, affirming peep in answer.

My hand covered my mouth. "Oh. _Oh_. I see." Being right almost hurt. Watching the two Pokémon interact, there had been nothing but warmth between them—warmth and obvious familiarity—and now they had to fight each other? That didn't seem at all fair. Rubbing her head again, I said, "Really, honey, it's OK if you—"

"Are we gonna battle or what?" Silver barked.

I ignored him. "Hotaru, we don't have to…"

But Hotaru—sweet, gentle, brave Hotaru—shook her head. She peeped. She hopped ahead, out from under my hand, and spread her little feet in an at-ready stance beneath her. A fighting stance, if I've ever seen one. Confident though she looked, I had to wonder if this was really OK. I rose to my feet and tried to read her body language, but all I got from the glowing spots on her back was a sense of determination, not fear or anxiety. Still: Was making her fight her friend the right thing to do? Was her mental state solid enough to survive this encounter? I mean, I didn't have another Pokémon to fall back on, but if she wanted to forfeit ahead of time, I wouldn't hesitate to make that happen.

Unfortunately, Hotaru was not given the opportunity to make that decision, and I never got the chance to act on it—because Silver called out a command, and Blue attacked.

He didn't attack with gusto, mind you. It jogged forward, eyes askance, and aimed a halfhearted swipe of claw at Hotaru, but she dodged backward and out of harm's way before it could connect. The two Pokémon circled from a distance, looking one another up and down, Blue in particular looking like he didn't want to be there at all. He kept making his creaky grumbles and looking at Silver, as if hoping his trainer would give him a reprieve. But Silver just glared, and Blue sighed, and made another lazy grab at Hotaru.

"Give him a tackle, Hotaru," I suggested.

She obeyed. She darted forward and butted Blue with her head, sending him staggering back with a yowl. Silver growled wordlessly before shouting "Scratch!" and in response his Pokémon gave Hotaru another swipe of claw. This one connected, scoring runs in her thick fur without drawing blood. Still, she gave a peep of pain and backed up a pace or two, smoke trailing from her nose in white streamers.

"Hey!" I called. Hotaru looked at me over her shoulder, narrow eyes glittering, as I gestured wildly at my face and mimicked a dragon breathing fire. "Smoke! Use your smoke!"

Her eye widened a tad, but she turned back to the battle with a cough—a cough that turned into a sound like a prolonged sneeze, and from her nose poured a fountain of white vapor, spots on her black flaring nearly maroon with heat. Blue jumped back, eyes bugging from his elongated gator skull, as smoke filled the air and obscured the field between the Pokémon completely. You have to give Hotaru credit: Her aim was good, the envy of vape-users everywhere, and the smoke somehow stayed in a nearly spherical ball over the expanse of the battlefield.

Silver's voice rose above the smoke. "Blue! Blue, where are—?"

Blue gave a garbled, reptilian cry of confusion, and the left side of the smoke-sphere buckled and lost its shape a little, like a cartoon dust cloud distending as people tussled within. Was he over there? I assumed as much and cupped my hands around my mouth to call, "Hotaru, to your left!"

She peeped, and the smoke buckled and kicked up again. There came a meaty thud, Blue warbling in surprise and pain, and then Hotaru gave an uncomfortable cry of her own. But soon there came another thud, and another, and then one more, and the Totodile made one last strangled gasp of—

"Hotaru, that's enough!" I said.

"That's not up to you to decide!" Silver shot back from the other side of the smoke sphere, but I didn't pay him any mind and instead dashed into the heart of the fog.

The vapors reeked of cinnamon and ash, cloyingly sweet and almost too thick to inhale as I half-jogged, half-scooted through the cloud to Hotaru's side. She wasn't hard to find once I entered the miasma, spots on her back glowing brightly enough to spot from several feet away. When I got to her I stopped and openly stared, though, eyes stinging and streaming even though the smoke had started to clear when I ran through and disturbed it—because what in the _world_ …?

Hotaru lay next to Blue with her chin on his belly, one paw resting protectively atop his chest. Blue sprawled out with eyes closed, tail curled under him, a few purple-tinted bruises spreading across his pale scales, and with a gasp I started to assume the worst—but then I saw the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint flicker behind his scaly lids. I breathed a sigh of relief. If I hadn't known they'd just been battling, I might have assumed they'd cuddled up to take a nap, they looked so cozy. But why had Hotaru—?

The smoke thinned, rippling and paring around the form of Silver. He strode through it like a bull through a china shop until he spotted me; his eyes flashed as he came to a stop and said, "You don't get to decide we're done, dammit!"

"You're right. It's not up to me." I pointed at Blue and Hotaru. "It's up to them."

He followed my point with his eyes until he saw his Pokémon lying sedate on the ground. At that Silver let out a low, frustrated sound, teeth baring as his lips pulled back in a grimace. Hotaru started to stand at the sight of him, but one of her back legs buckled and she sat down heavily once more.

For the first time, I noticed the two deep rivets carved into her flank. They oozed blood, though not much of it, but it appeared that a bit of her navy fur had been shaved clean off to reveal pale skin beneath. I went to her and scooped her up as the last of the smoke dissipated, the forest swimming back into view around us like TV picture finding better reception.

"Look at them," I said as Hotaru cuddled into my chest, a tiny squeak of discomfort eking from her throat. "They need to get to a Pokémon center. Hotaru and Blue, both."

Silver's chin tucked close to his chest as he harrumphed—but to my surprise, he didn't tell me to get lost or that I was stupid or whatever. He didn't even recall his Pokémon and stalk off without a word. Instead, he knelt next to Blue and put his hand on Blue's stomach, holding it there as if testing if the Pokémon was OK, feeling his breath as he lay there in a stunned daze. My lungs clenched, drawing down a gulp of stunned air at this display of tenderness, but Silver's unexpected act of care didn't last long. Soon he stood and pulled a Poké Ball from his pocket; he held it out and a beam of light shot out from the white button in the front, connecting with Blue and recalling the creature in a burst of scarlet light.

I swallowed. "How do you know about Lyra?"

Silver shot me a look of annoyance as he stood. "You're still on about that?"

"Um. Yeah." I hushed Hotaru, stroking her fur when she gave another tiny cry of distress. "You said you'd answer my question if I won. And I did. So?"

He harrumphed again, tossing his Poké Ball up and catching it again with a smack of metal on flesh. After a moment's silent consideration Silver said, "A little birdie told me to keep an eye out for her. So I did."

"OK." He'd technically answered my question, unfortunate emphasis on 'technically.' "But what the hell does that even—?"

He held up the Poké Ball, index finger extended. "I said _one_ question, dumbass."

My jaw dropped. "But—!"

"Beat me again and maybe I'll answer another."

"But you didn't even answer my first one!"

"Yes, I did." A derisive chuff of air exited his nose. "You could answer it for yourself if you pulled your head out of your ass."

 _"Hey!"_

My indignant bark only made him laugh, however, steely eyes glittering against his pale skin and flaming hair. "You're fun, I'll give you that," he said—but the smile faded when his eyes traveled to Hotaru. Unexpected urgency colored his voice as he said, "Now get out of here. Your Pokémon needs to go to a center."

I started to tell him to go to hell and mind his own business, but before the words could leave my mouth, Hotaru gave another weak burble. A tremor rippled through her, warm body trembling against my skin like a flickering space heater. "Shit," I said, holding her close. To Silver I added (with a heaping helping of glare on the side): "This isn't over."

"It better not be." He tossed his hair and grinned a grin with perhaps too many teeth. "See ya 'round."

It was inconvenient and stupid and _ugh_ , but if I really was in HeartGold or SoulSilver, I would be seeing (and kicking the ass of) Silver again, and soon. I could ask more questions then, when perhaps Hotaru wasn't in pain, and in pain on a day she'd also suffered emotional trauma. I held her awkwardly in one arm as I shrugged out of my leather jacket and tried to wrap her up in it. She was a fire Pokémon; something told me keeping warm would bring her comfort, although I didn't have any concrete evidence with which to back that assertion up. Silver walked past me as I struggled to cover her in my coat, stuffing Blue's Poké Ball into his pocket as he came near. Just as he stepped out of my line of sight, however, I heard a small 'plop'; I turned around as I looped the last bit of jacket around Hotaru, eyes catching on a small, black object lying on the ground. Even though Silver was an ass, my manners took hold. I snatched the object off the ground and started to call after him, tell him he'd forgotten something and he should come back and get it.

I stopped before the words could leave my mouth.

In my hand I held his wallet.

It was impossible to stop myself, what I did then, but canon dictated that I should do it, so I did it. I flipped open the wallet to reveal an ID card, one with a blue background and a border of Poké Balls. Mine had different colors and a different layout, oddly, but I knew what the card was even before I saw the small photograph of Silver in the upper left corner.

I didn't pay the photograph much mind, however. I was too busy staring at the name embossed across the top of the card, because… well. It just wasn't what I expected, now was it?

"'Argento Riva.'" The words slipped from my mouth as I read them, and at their sound the crunch of Silver's footsteps on the path fell quiet. "'Argento Riva,'" I repeated. " _That's_ your name?"

There was a pause—and then his feet crunched across the ground again. They came fast and in my direction; I looked up just in time to see him barreling toward me, but before I could flinch back, he came to a stop only inches from where I stood. We looked at each other, nose to nose, for what felt like an eon. I could count the lashes framing his bright eyes, we stood so close, and I tried my damndest not to crack under the pressure of his intense, searching gaze. Before I could blink or tell him to back up or make a comment about taking a picture because they last longer, his mouth moved.

"Yeah," he murmured. "It is." And with that he snatched his wallet back and cracked a crooked grin, one I didn't understand but would carry with me until the next time we crossed paths. "That's my name—but most people call me Silver."

* * *

NOTES

 _Silver has many secrets._

 _So, canonically, Silver is the son of Team Rocket leader Giovanni. Giovanni was never given a canon surname, so I picked "Riva" (which means "river") as that family's surname for my story. "Argento," meanwhile, means "silver" in Italian. I picked that name both for its meaning and because it's Italian, like Giovanni's name, and I figured Giovanni would probably name his son something Italian. Being literally named "Silver" just doesn't seem likely/realistic given the family from which Silver hails._

 _I mean… I know Italy doesn't exist in this world, technically, but many in-Pokémon-universe locations and characters are influenced by locations/cultures from our world, so… I'm running with the Italian thing as far as Giovanni and his progeny are concerned. Everybody just go with it, pleeeease. ;) He's still going to be called "Silver" in this story, so the "real name" aspect won't come into play much._

 _Hoshiko will reflect on the whole "there is no Italy and yet someone has an Italian name" thing eventually, BTW. It'll just take a little while to get there._

 _In the battle against Silver, we didn't have much trouble. Totodile kept missing thanks to "smokescreen" and Hotaru took him down with a few tackles, though she sustained damage in return. Hopefully the battle description worked and was engaging!_

 _MANY THANKS to you for reviewing, my dear friends: Deamachi, Sky65, and C S Stars! You ROCK!_


	8. Chapter 8: The Uehara Residence

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 08:

"Elm's Lab & the Uehara Residence"

* * *

Hands balled into tight fists at my sides, I looked up at the towering police officer and said: "For the last time, _I am not behind the theft!"_

The man (who only laughed at my assertion) kept one hand on the baton in his belt and the other hooked into the collar of the hulking Growlithe at his side. True to its name, the dog-Pokémon let out a long, low growl that sounded like rocks in a blender, striped orange and black fur rising along the length of its spine. Cream-colored lips pulled away from its white teeth, black eyes narrow as they rested unblinking on me. Hotaru quivered on my lap, letting out a brave (but clearly frightened) peep, spots on her back turning luminous orange with fear.

"Likely story," the police officer said. His smart blue uniform with the gold buttons could barely close over his barrel chest, which puffed up as he sneered. "You claim you met the real thief on the outskirts of Cherrygrove and beat him in a battle, and yet you didn't recover the stolen Pokémon? I find that hard to believe."

"My Pokémon was hurt and I had to go to the Center!" I said. "There wasn't time to chase him down!"

Elm, who stood a few feet away looking like he was about to vomit, shook his head so hard I feared his glasses might fly off. "Really, Officer Reynolds, there's no need for this! The boy who stole the Pokémon was clearly—"

But Reynolds lifted a hand. "It's OK, Professor," he said in a much politer voice than he'd used on me. "I'll wring the truth out of her, yet."

The Growlithe, largest of its type I had ever seen, loosed another deep growl, but I was less than intimidated at this point. I'd been forced into a chair and interrogated by the hulking Officer Reynolds the second I walked into Elm's lab, accused of being behind the Pokémon theft before I could even register there was a police officer present to make such accusations in the first place. So much for dropping off the egg and going home for some much-needed shuteye, I guess, and Elm was absolutely no help. He was too rattled from the theft to do anything but stand there with shaking knees and watch, bodily supported by two of his assistants, offering only the most feeble of protests as Reynolds stared me down.

"I'll bet you noticed the other Pokémon when Elm gave you your starter," Reynolds said, every word dripping with scorn and the kind of gleeful darkness you only ever see on the faces of cops trying to arrest someone who probably doesn't deserve it. "Why don't I paint a picture, hmm? You got jealous. You got greedy. You thought, 'why can I only have one?' So you enlisted the help of someone else, some local ruffian, to help you steal another. And you paid him to help you pull off this heist."

"Great theory," I snarked, "but only if you forget the fact that I'm sixteen years old with no income. Kind of hard to pay a local ruffian for his services when I only get an allowance, right?"

He looked me over from under the shadow of his cap, long and slow and holy shit maybe even lasciviously? And yup, gross, I was right about that last bit because after a moment he suggested, "Maybe you paid him off in… _other_ ways."

My jaw dropped. Elm's knees buckled as he warbled an aghast, "Officer Reynolds, _please!"_

But Reynolds just smirked. I bared my teeth and spoke through them to say, "I'm going to pretend you didn't just make a wildly inappropriate assumption about a minor and point out that you searched me when I came in, and you didn't find any Pokémon on me but Hotaru. And why would I even come back here if I had robbed the place, I ask you?"

"Don't you know? Villains always return to the scene of the crime." He leaned down until we were nose to nose (his was red and pockmarked, I might add, and he had bad breath). "I bet your lackey is waiting for you at a rendezvous point—"

"Don't you have anything better to do than pick on teenagers, you big bully?" I snapped.

Reynolds lurched back as if I'd struck him, Growlithe dragging back a few inches across the floor. "Ex _cuse_ me?"

I held up a finger. "One: Interrogating a minor isn't exactly legal, even if you _don't_ insult her." I put up a second finger, nose wrinkling as my lips curled. "Two: You're just a government cop passing through who happened upon a case at random. This isn't your jurisdiction and you know it." At that I couldn't help but flash a mocking grin. "What, the gym leaders in your town take out all the trash so you had to go looking for work?"

Reynolds growled like his own Pokémon at that, but he didn't try to contradict me—because I was right and he knew it. Government police were assigned to cities by our country's government, but New Bark Town didn't have a police force or even a gym to address crime. We weren't large enough for either and too small a city to have much crime in the first place (aside from random and unprecedented Pokémon thefts, of course). Typically Elm mediated between disputes or we summoned a police officer from Cherrygrove if we really needed one. This guy had to be some wandering sheriff without a station, which probably meant his local Gym did all the policework in his area. Typical, that he'd get so rabid over what was likely his first big case in weeks. Just typical.

"And for my third and final point." I put up a third finger and outright glared at him, conveying with my face every last bit of disdain I had for this asshole. "You haven't even bothered to ask me anything about the red-haired guy Elm says was responsible for the theft in the first place."

Reynolds did a double-take, but then his eyes narrowed in triumph-laced suspicion. "I never said he had red hair," he said. "So you must—"

I threw up my hands. "I don't know about his hair because I was working with him, you nincompoop! I know about it because I fought him and I won, and if you stopped to listen to me for just two tiny seconds, I could even tell you his name. He dropped his damn ID and I'm pretty sure it wasn't a fake."

But Reynolds scoffed. "And why should I believe that story, and not that you're just selling out your partner in crime?"

My eyes rolled almost of their own accord. "Because if he was my partner in crime and you caught him after I sold him out, he'd probably sell _me_ out to get even—and why would I risk that if I was guilty? I'd protect him if we were working together!"

God, arguing with bombastic adults who don't know I wasn't just some dumb kid is the best. Reynolds blinked at me in stunned silence before ducking his chin and grumbling, "W-well then. What was his name, pray tell?"

"Riva. Argento Riva, but he goes by the nickname 'Silver.'" It took every last ounce of my willpower not to jokingly claim his name was 'AssButt' or something, the name I and so many young Pokémon players had given to the character while playing Gen II. "He was headed west to Cherrygrove when I met him. No idea where he went after—why are you looking at me like that?"

Officer Reynolds had gone quite still shortly after I started talking. He stared at me with wide eyes before abruptly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small spiral-bound notebook. Ripping a pencil from the spiral, he flipped open the notebook and scribbled something on a page, then something else, and then something else. I watched with my mouth open, confused and unsure.

"His last name was Riva, you say?" he said without looking at me. His tongue poked from the corner of his blocky mouth in concentration.

"Uh. Yeah?"

Bright green eyes flickered up from his furious scribbling. "You're sure?"

I didn't say a word—merely gave him a stare that asked if he was fucking serious, _yes, I was sure, dammit._ He looked back down at his notebook a moment later.

"I see," he said. More furious scribbling followed. "Yes, yes, I'll follow up with any leads. For now I must follow the main suspect—Argento Riva, also known as Silver." The notebook slapped shut in his massive hand; Reynolds tipped his hat first at me and then at Elm, huge square jaw tight as he clenched it shut. "Thank you for your cooperation."

And with that, he walked out, Growlithe trotting at his heels. I gaped at their departure, barely able to keep up with the man's unforeseen change of heart. What the _heck_ had that been about? Elm and his assistants didn't appear to know, either, because they stared after Reynolds for as long as I did with the same shocked confusion. Eventually Elm cleared his throat and staggered toward me, leaning heavily on the back of my chair to keep himself upright.

"Oh, Hoshiko," Elm groaned. He mopped a hand over his mouth and then rubbed his eyes with finger and thumb, glasses lifting over his forehead in the process. "It was terrible, just terrible. I'm so sorry you encountered that boy, Silver, and all because I sent you on that errand! He must have given you such trouble."

"Honestly, dealing with that jackass cop was more unpleasant than meeting Silver." I gave Hotaru a pat on her head. She nibbled at my fingertips with a low, comforting burble. "Hotaru did great again him, but enough about that—are you OK?"

I asked because he looked haggard, bags under his eyes as dark as bruises. Elm waved a hand at me. "I'm fine, I'm—" But he stopped, took a deep breath that shook, and let his hand drop from his eyes. To my horror it looked like he was about to cry as he wrung his fingers and gazed mournfully at me. "That poor Pokémon the boy took. It's dreadful, just dreadful…"

"Yeah. It is. But hey." I reached for my backpack. "I got that discovery from Mister Pokémon."

My mom in my old life had always tried to distract me with something neat when I was upset, like a book or a treat or whatever, and I figured Elm might appreciate the same tactic. I pulled the containment capsule from my bag and passed it to him, elated to note that his tears dried and his trembling knees stilled at the sight of the egg. He took the capsule and held it at arm's length, studying the egg with eyes that lit more and more up with every passing second.

"Oh. How interesting." He pulled the capsule closer to squint at it. "I've never seen markings like these before." The capsule went even closer, his nose pressing nearly to the glass. "Yes, yes. I'll have to study this thoroughly," he said, sounding like he's just contracted a bad headcold. "Mister Pokémon is a bit too enthusiastic for his own good, but sometimes… perhaps this is something, after all."

"Yeah. Maybe it is." Somehow I managed to make eye contact with him through the glass of the pod, image of his face distorted and rotund. "Are you going to be OK?"

He nodded. "Yes, Hoshiko. I am." With a start he wrenched his face from the capsule and glanced at his watch. "You should get home. It will be dark soon and your mother came by not too long ago to ask if you'd be much longer, and…"

Elm tailed off, eyes alighting on the egg again, and he heaved a weary sigh. Without another word he carried the egg to his enormous desk at the back of the lab, where he stood with hands braced on either side of it against the wooden tabletop. I watched him for a minute, uncertain—but then he heaved another sigh and hung his head. Part of me wanted to go to him and ask if I could help at all, but he was an adult and I occupied the body of a child. Much though I felt for him, it wasn't my job to comfort him, and it would look odd if I tried. We were not peers, and I would not embarrass him by pretending we were as such. Putting Hotaru on the ground, I murmured for her to follow and headed for the lab's front doors, hoping all the while that I was doing the right thing.

I didn't get far, however. One of Elm's assistants (I confess I wasn't sure of his name; he was a newer recruit) peeked out from behind a bookcase near the door and flagged me down with a frantic wave. I walked to him with brow raised; he looked past me at Elm, as if to make sure he wasn't listening.

"So it's true?" the assistant (whose nametag I could see read 'Bradley,' now) said. "You met the kid with the red hair?"

"Yeah," I said with a nod. "I did."

Bradley shoved his cokebottle glasses up his nose with a finger, eyes behind them magnified to the point of being lemur-like. Despite the comic image, real sorrow occupied his expression, shoulders beneath his stark lab coat slumping before he spoke. "It's a shame someone like that took a starter. We are only allotted so many of those a year, after all."

"Yeah." I hefted my empty backpack a little higher. "Well, I gotta—"

"A damn shame." Bradley sighed, posture even worse now. "It was a sweet little thing, that Totodile. But you know what they say—a rotten a trainer, a rotten Pokémon." He shook his head and turned away, wandering away toward Elm. "Something tells me its good nature isn't meant to last…"

At the sound of his words, I found couldn't move. My mouth dried like a shallow puddle under baking sunlight as I watched Bradley walk away. He put a hand on Elm's shoulder and murmured something; Elm murmured back, then waved Bradley away without looking up from the egg. The professor shuffled from his worktable toward the high-tech module in the corner, where a single red Poké Ball rested under a dome of glass, glimmering faintly in the lab's sparkling lights. Elm picked it up and studied it before slowly putting it back down, caressing the object with his fingertips for just a moment longer than was necessary.

Hotaru peeped, claws clicking gently against my prosthetic.

The spell cast upon me broke.

With a muttered command for Hotaru to follow, I turned around and walked away, toward home.

* * *

Mom must have been watching for me from the windows because she met us at the door before I could grab the knob, beaming and silhouetted by the light streaming through the frame. Night had fallen as I walked the rest of the way home, stars winking into being overhead. She wore an apron and carried a soup ladle, voice bright and happy as she asked, "Hoshiko, how was your—? Wait." Her eyes flickered to the Pokémon at my side. "And who's this?"

"Mom. Meet Hotaru," I said, gesturing at the aforementioned. "Elm gave her to me today."

Mom sucked in a breath. Something in her shoulders tensed, like maybe words had bubbled on her tongue—but she seemed to shake herself as she threw on a smile and knelt, reaching out a hand for Hotaru to sniff. Hotaru did so with her long and twitchy snout, whiskers wheeling in circles before she thrust her head under my mother's fingers.

"Hi, Hotaru," Mom said, giving Hotaru's domed skull a nice scratch. "I'm Hoshiko's mother. It's nice to meet you."

Hotaru peeped, eyes closed with happiness at being petted. Mom's smile grew a touch warmer in response.

"I'll prepare you a little bed, unless you'd like to sleep beside Hoshiko," said Mom. "You two will have to work it out."

"Uh…" I cupped my hand around my mouth and leaned close to my mother's ear, so as not to offend Hotaru with my dumb question. "Do you have to housebreak Pokémon, or what?"

Mom giggled. "They're smart enough to ask to go out." She put a finger to her chin. "Let's see. We don't have any proper Pokémon food in the house, but we'll make do." Mom gave Hotaru a final pat and pushed on her knees to stand. "Come inside, you two. Let me fix you both plates."

Usually Mom liked to ask questions whenever I got home from school or playing with Ethan, but that night she was uncharacteristically quiet, passing into the kitchen without a word. The table was set with two places, flowers filling a vase between the assembled settings. Mom placed a third setting at the head of the table, hesitated, then moved it down to the floor with a glance at Hotaru. I paid only half a mind and headed to the laundry room off the kitchen, where I pulled down an old rubber ball Ethan and I threw around sometimes. This I presented to Hotaru, who had made a lap around the room to snuffle at the baseboards and various items of furniture.

"Want to play with this?" I said.

Hotaru took it in her little paws and chirped. To my satisfaction, she nudged the ball and chased after it, feet sliding comically against the slick wooden floor when the ball ricocheted off the wall and toward the couch and she tried desperately to follow. Once she got a little distance away, happily distracted, I went into the kitchen.

Mom stood at the stove, where she stirred a large stockpot with her ladle. I hopped up and say on the counter next to the stove and tried to meet her eyes, but she kept her fixed dutifully on the bubbling minestrone. So I was right. Something was bothering her, after all. But what?

In the other room, Hotaru knocked into something with a cheep and a thud. Mom looked up, startled, before frowning and returning her gaze to the soup.

Ah. So that was it.

"Hey, Mom?" I said.

Mom's eyes cut my way. "Yes, Hoshiko?"

"Did… did no one tell you I'd be getting a starter today?"

I'd hit the nail on the head, if her long and weary sigh was any indication. She passed her fingers through her long hair and shook her head. "I thought perhaps you might get one. But no. No one specifically told me." Her stirring took on an aggressive quality, broth sloshing nearly over the edge of the pot. "Malkin has been eager for you to go on a journey for some time now. I assume he arranged this with Elm ahead of time."

"Probably, knowing his controlling ass," I said, but Mom neither joked nor chided me for bad language. OK, try another tactic. I added, "I'm sorry you weren't kept in the loop."

Mom sighed again. "Don't be. I'm used to it, and it's between me and Malkin, anyway." Another aggressive stir of soup. "And it's probably best you go on your journey soon, regardless. Much though I…"

Her breathing hitched. She rubbed the back of her wrist over her eyes, but that didn't stop the tears from welling up. She tried not to let them show, tried to turn her face away before I saw, but it was no use.

"Oh, Mom," I said. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." She dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron. "It's just—we spent so much time apart when you were small, and even though tragedy brought us together again, I've treasured these past six years. To let you go again is…"

She sniffled. I leaned forward and rested my head on her shoulder, mindful of the hot stove. Mom put her free hand on my head and stroked my hair before pressing a kiss to my scalp. I wasn't sure what to say to her just then, but I hoped my show of affection was enough.

"But even if you've been given a starter," Mom murmured against my hair, "you don't have to leave on a journey if you don't want to. Customs aren't laws. You can leave tomorrow, or in a month, or never. It's up to you."

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it, because her words resonated with warmth and support—and I knew that no matter what I chose to do, she would have my back.

I lucked out, getting a mom like her in my new life.

Eventually she shooed me away and told me to wash up for dinner, which I did upstairs in my room. I doffed my prosthetic and peeled out of the sleeve beneath it with a hiss of pain; true to my prediction, two blisters had appeared on the end of my residual limb, angry red and stinging. I covered them in ointment but left bandages off so they could air out, and then I went downstairs with the help of a set of crutches.

Hotaru met me at the bottom of the stairs, ball clutched in her tiny hands. She stared up at my missing limb with eyes wide enough to actually see some white around her irises, seemingly shocked that I wasn't actually made of metal from the right knee down. I stopped and sat on the bottom of the steps so I could pet her, let her sniff my leg a bit and wrap her developing brain around this change to my person. Her eyes flicked between my leg and the crutches eventually, at which point she gave a soft peep of understanding and nuzzled my ankle.

"You're so smart," I said, half awed and half shocked.

In response, Hotaru's spots glowed brilliant yellow.

We sat down to eat a little while later. Hotaru ate on the floor while Mom and I sat at the table, but I kept one eye on my Pokémon as I spooned warm soup, veggies and noodles into my mouth. Hotaru ate with delicate precision, somehow not getting her long nose covered in broth as she ferried noodles past her tiny teeth. Smart—she was _so dang smart_ , and as I watched her I felt someone walk over my grave (a turn of phrase I use in jest, but then again, who knew where my old body was buried?). I suppressed a shiver. Elm, Malkin, and Oak had all talked about me going on a journey soon, as was custom, but how could that possibly be a good idea? No way in hell would I risk the life of a creature so smart, so sentient, so human… but Oak had given me a Pokédex. Was I beholden to go travelling now? Travelling would be neat, I'll admit it, but the League Challenge just scared me spitless, and if I was really the protagonist of the Gold plotline, that's what I'd be expected to pursue. Could I even go on a journey and not take the League Challenge? If I didn't travel, would I have to give the Dex back? Would Oak even want it back? Was it a gift or a loan? Seeing more about this world would be so, so cool, but if it meant risking—

"Honey, are you OK? You've hardly touched your food."

I started, too lost in my own thoughts to keep from flinching at the sound of her voice. She stared at me from across the table with a concerned frown as I said, "Just tired, Mom." I lifted a spoonful of minestrone and took a bite. "It's delicious."

But even though Hotaru gave an agreeable peep from her spot on the floor, Mom look less than convinced. "Was the errand too hard?" she asked—and her hand smacked against her cheek. "Oh, goodness, I forgot to ask you how it went in all the excitement of your starter!"

"It's fine," I said. I couldn't meet her eyes when I said, "And it was fine, too. The journey, I mean."

"I'm glad to hear that." Her eyes drifted to the table as if she could see through it. "Although your leg's looking a little…"

I winced. "I ran more than I should."

"You ran?" she asked, brow knitting. "But why? Do we need to get Malkin back here for more adjustments?"

"No. I just wasn't careful." I couldn't help but look at Hotaru again. "There's a lot to explain, but…"

I told Mom just about everything, then—from getting Hotaru to travelling to Cherrygrove City, and in veiled terms I even told her what Hotaru and I had witnessed transpire on the road. She gasped when I indicated that we'd seen a Pokémon die, eyes brimming with new tears, but I soldiered on and briefly summarized meeting Mister Pokémon and Professor Oak. It was the fight with Silver I wanted to talk about most, not to mention what Bradley the assistant had said to me as I left the lab.

Repeating his words put a lump in my throat, but I forced myself to talk around it. "And I just wonder if…" I swallowed, but the lump didn't ease. "I almost chose that Totodile, you know? And now he's off stuck with some jerk who might turn him into…"

"Oh, honey." Mom stood up and sat in the chair next to me, arm snaking around my shoulders. "There, there."

I didn't cry, but it was a close call. I leaned my head against her neck and covered my eyes with my hand, taking comfort in the way she rubbed small circles between my shoulder blades. "I know that no matter who I picked, he would've stolen somebody and I'm not to blame for his actions," I said after a long sniff. "But, if I'd been thinking more clearly, maybe I could have taken the Totodile back, y'know? Saved it, or…"

But was I even allowed to save it? Would canon (if this was indeed Gold Version) allow me to take a Pokémon away from another trainer like that? How would that even work? Or was I trapped in the game's events and unable to alter them even a little?

Ugh. Fuck fate, am I right?

"Sweetheart." Mom pulled away so she could look me dead in the eye, expression both firm and gentle all at once. "It's not your fault that someone did something bad. You can't blame yourself for the actions of others."

"I know. It's just… ugh. Anyway." I shook my head. Glanced at my Pokémon again, who had stopped eating and was cleaning her whiskers and paws. "And poor thing, having to fight her friend." My brow knit. "Although that was kind of weird. She fought him without much trouble. I thought she'd be scared after what we saw before, but she wasn't. Hotaru fought her old friend without much reluctance at all."

Hotaru looked up at the sound of her name and gave a happy peep. Nails scritching against the floor, she walked over to her ball and began playing with it again, bouncing the sphere off the wall and then hitting it back in a single-player game of tennis. There hadn't been time to wonder why she'd so readily fight Blue before, but now…

"Maybe the fact that he's her friend is why she didn't have trouble fighting him," Mom said.

"Eh?"

She watched Hotaru play for a moment. "You said she lay with her head on his chest after all was said and done. They must have been close. Perhaps if they hadn't fought, or if Blue refused to fight, maybe that cruel thief of a boy would've…"

My jaw dropped a little before I shut it again. "Hurt him?" I said, voice low. "You think he might have hurt the Totodile?"

"Maybe," said Mom, eyes still on my Pokémon. "And maybe Hotaru could sense that if she didn't give it her all, neither would her old friend. Fighting Blue with all her power might have spared him other cruelties." A small smile crossed her mouth. "And besides. If they were friends, no way would Hotaru allow her old pal to get too hurt. She'd fight, but she'd never maim. So maybe, in her own way, she was protecting Blue."

Another point, one that complemented her own, dawned on me. "And perhaps since they were friends, she counted on Blue not to be too tough on her in return," I said. "Her friend would never hurt her, she probably thought, so she wasn't afraid."

"It's certainly plausible."

"Agreed." Leave it to Mom to think of something like that; probably came with the territory of being a mom, and a good one, if I had to guess. I grasped her hand and smiled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She put her chin on her hand and sighed. "It's times like these I wish Pokémon could speak."

"Me, too."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, holding hands and watching Hotaru play tennis with herself. Mom laughed behind her hand when Hotaru grabbed the ball when it was moving fast and wound up getting flipped onto her back like an overturned hedgehog, stumpy legs pawing wildly at the air before she righted herself. I laughed, too, but there was something on my mind that kept me from giving a true guffaw. Part of me wondered if I should even ask, at the risk of Mom thinking I was some kind of budding criminal and summoning Officer Reynolds (the horror!), but…

I took a deep breath. "Say, Mom?"

She hummed under her breath. "Yes, honey?"

"If I met that boy again, I'm wondering if it's possible—" I stopped. Tried again. "I mean, I'm wondering if it's even legal to…" The words failed. "To…?"

Mom frowned at me. She opened her mouth to speak, probably to ask just what I was so ineffectively getting at.

She never got the chance, however, because at that moment someone rang our doorbell.

As one, our heads (including Hotaru's) swung toward the front door. Mom stood up with a mutter of "Who could that be?" before asking, "Are you expecting anyone? Ethan, maybe?"

"Nope. You?"

"No one." Mom harrumphed, frowning as the bell rang again. She went to the door and peered through the keyhole as I got my crutches under me and sat on the couch, in view of the door and whoever it was on the other side. Soon Mom gave an exasperated mutter and pulled the door open, hair ruffling as a cool night breeze swept through the open portal.

On the stoop stood Professor Elm. He stumbled forward and braced his hand on the frame, bending from the waist as he panted. Red-faced and sweaty, it looked like he'd run all the way here up the hill—but why?

Mom didn't know, either, and she sounded none too happy to see him when she said in desert-dry tones, "Professor Elm. What brings you here so late?"

But he paid her no mind. "Ho-Hoshiko," he said, ragged breath turning his words to shreds. "I j-just got off the phone with P-Professor Oak, a-and—" He sucked in a massive breath, stood up straight, and nearly bellowed, "Hoshiko, he gave you a _Pokédex?!"_

Mom gasped and spun, eyes enormous and dark against her golden skin. "What?!" she said at a volume that bordered on an outright shriek. "Hoshiko, is this true?"

"Sorry, sorry!" I said, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck. "I just wasn't sure if—"

But somehow, Mom wasn't mad at my omission. In fact, she gave a tiny wail of joy and grinned like sunshine personified, hands clapping together with glee. "Well, isn't this wonderful?" she said. "You're going to have a fantastic journey, in that case! You really should leave in the morning since you have a Pokédex. How exciting!"

'Completely unexpected' doesn't even come close to describing that reaction—my mother, the woman who'd said I could _never_ go on a journey if I so chose, was telling me to leave tomorrow? My mouth fell wide open, of course, as I stuttered out a shocked, "M-Mom, _what?!"_

Elm and Mom both ignored me. "Yes, you're right, Miss Uehara!" Elm warbled. "In fact, I was going to propose I pick her up tomorrow and see her off—but only if that's all right by you, ma'am."

"It's more than all right!" said Mom, and she beamed at Elm even though she'd earlier been mad he'd given me a starter without her knowledge and had looked completely unhappy to see him when he first opened the door and _oh my god what the shit was even happening?_ I didn't have time to voice my questions aloud, though, because Mom rounded on me and turned her beam my way. "Hoshiko, aren't you _excited?"_

It took unfathomable willpower for me to summon the gumption necessary to speak. "I mean, sure?" I somehow managed to grind out. "But I'm more confused than anything. Earlier you were saying—"

"Oh, forget what I said earlier; I was being emotional and now everything's' changed, hasn't it?" Mom clapped her hands again, rocking up and down on her heels. "You have a Pokédex! With that, there's absolutely no reason you can't leave in the morning." She nearly hopped in place, grin absolutely, downright eager. "Ooh, I had better do laundry, hadn't I?"

"And I had best prepare young Hoshiko with supplies for her journey!" Elm concurred. He turned to me with an enormous smile and struck a pose, one hand on his hip, other hand thrust high into the air. "Hoshiko, I'll see you bright and early. Get a good night's rest and prepare yourself for adventure!"

Like lighting after it hits the ground, Mom and Elm both vanished—Mom bounding up the stairs, Elm darting into the dark of the night. The door swung shut after him with a clatter; Mom hummed a merry tune, one I could hear from all the way on the ground floor. Hotaru had stopped playing with her ball, staring at the front door as if she could see Elm through it, and as one our faces soon turned toward the stairs and the sound of my mother's voice. We both wore mystified frowns, expressions somehow identical even though we came from completely different species. Eventually we looked at each other; as one, our frowns deepened.

"What in the ever-loving heck do you suppose that was about?" I said.

When Hotaru peeped her reply, I somehow knew exactly what she meant.

Hotaru didn't have to speak English for me to know she was just as confused as I was.

* * *

NOTES

 _Oof, I managed to slip some worldbuilding into this one, plus some seeds that will turn into worldbuilding later. More on the role of gyms, police, and government later, and yes, there are a lot more to Pokédexes in this world than meets the eye. Why Hoshiko's mom became so excited upon learning Hoshiko had one will be explored later. Keep an eye out for it!_

 _Next time: Sentret returns… FOR REVENGE. Mwa ha ha!_

 _MANY THANKS to all those who reviewed last time! Reviews let me know how I'm doing and motivate me to keep working on this story in earnest, so if you're so inclined, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks a million to these gorgeous people: birdyful yellow, Guest, Ravyn Moon 1313, Eli Mara and C S Stars!_


	9. Chapter 9: New Bark Outskirts & Route 29

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 09:

"New Bark Outskirts; Route 29"

* * *

Summoning my most intense stare, I folded my arms across my chest and stopped walking. Elm continued for a few steps before realizing he lost me, and when he turned to look in my direction, he flinched and stopped cold with a nervous chuckle.

"So, Professor," I said, glare not budging an inch. "Do you wanna tell me why you and Mom freaked out so badly last night?"

His cheeks practically turned blue, dread coloring his eyes like spilled paint. "N-now Hoshiko," he said as he forced a grin that did not hide the anxiety in his expression one bit. "Wh-why would you think we freaked out?"

It was almost comical, the way he gave a totally fake laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck, but I wasn't fooled at all by his faux-insouciance. I just glared, and stared, while he withered under my demanding gaze like a weed under baking sun. It was nice to know my glare could work on someone, I told myself—because the night before, it hadn't worked on my mom at all.

In fact, she'd remained completely immune to my glaring and prying as I followed her around the house demanding to know why she'd so suddenly changed her mind, but all she'd do was grin and brush me aside, at one point rattling off a casual, "Well, receiving a Dex is a huge honor and if you don't leave on your journey soon, Oak will want it back, so it's best you leave lickety split." Which was a totally unsatisfactory answer, of course, and one she'd repeated both last night and this morning when she'd bustled me out the door with lots of hugs and kisses and a clear desire to avoid discussing the subject further. Which meant Elm, who was about to see me off at the edge of town, was my final chance at getting an answer—and he seemed quite a lot less strong-willed than my indomitable mother, given his reaction to my unblinking and prolonged Look of Extreme Displeasure, and that made me think I actually had a shot at wringing out the truth.

"Really, Hoshiko," he said, fake-laughing as the silence between us grew thick enough to suffocate. "No one freaked out! We're merely proud of you, that's all. Why would you think we freaked out? Don't be silly!"

My glare intensified. "I think you freaked out because you did freak out. Don't pretend like you didn't. I'm not some dumb kid you can gaslight."

His eyes widened, and then he sagged and sighed. "I suppose that's true," came his glum reply. "So I suppose I should explain a few things, shouldn't I?" He straightened up and pushed his glasses up his nose with a marked clearing of his throat. "Well, Hoshiko. As you know, receiving a Dex is a big—"

"A big honor, yes, I know," I cut in, because if he tried to feed me the same fake explanation Mom did, I'd scream. "But that doesn't explain it all. So what else is there?"

He fidgeted where he stood. "W-well, your mother will likely receive some monetary compensation from the government since her daughter now technically reports to them. Perhaps that explains it?"

I frowned. "I report to the government?"

"Technically speaking, yes." His voice gained a bit more confidence (even a little enthusiasm) at that point. "The information collected by your Pokédex is sent to a series of databases that support the research of professors like Oak and myself. We receive our funding from the government and since we can't always travel the regions ourselves, it's up to young trainers to help us collect vital data." A kindly smile. "But you knew that already, of course. Your father was a researcher in his own right."

As always when someone spoke about the father I'd never met, I couldn't help but lower my eyes to the ground. Around us swayed trees, a thin smattering of them lining the path out of New Bark Town that led toward Route 29 itself. The cool wind slipped under the collar of my leather jacket—the jacket I'd inherited from the same father I couldn't face a mention of, but I tried not to think about that as I shifted where I stood.

"I mean, sure," I said, avoiding his eyes. "But getting a little extra money still doesn't explain why she did a complete 180, and—"

"Hoshiko?!" A gasp and a thud came from behind me, loud in the quiet morning air. "Who's that Pokémon?!"

I spun to find Ethan scrambling from a bush (as was his eternal custom) at the base of the nearest tree, leaves caught up in his clothes and sticking out of the tops of his shoes. His Marill companion rolled out of the bush behind him, bulbous tail catching between two branches and stopping it short, but Ethan didn't pay his Pokémon (who was struggling to free itself) any mind. He only had eyes for Hotaru, who crouched at my feet and aimed a small chirp of greeting at the Marill.

"Why do you have—?" He stopped talking and looked at Elm, at me, at Hotaru, at the beginnings of the forest around us. "Wait. Where are you going?" A look of dawning comprehension crossed his features; he pointed at me, eyes humongous in his freckled face. "Hold the phone, Hoshiko, what the heck is going on?!"

"Hi, Ethan," I said with a little wave. "I'm leaving to go on my journey. This is my starter, Hotaru. Say hi, Hotaru."

She peeped again and sat on her haunches, mimicking me by waving her tiny paw.

Ethan gave a cry caught halfway between surprise, delight, and horror. "You're leaving?! Oh my god!" He clapped a hand to his face and turned to bolt away. "I gotta go tell my mom! This is great, Hoshiko, just great, maybe now I can leave on my own since you're—"

"Slow down, Ethan!" Elm said. When Ethan skidded to a stop and turned to glare at Elm, Elm added in much more pleading tones, "I was hoping you could show young Hoshiko here how to catch Pokémon." He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a small mesh bag, in which five small spherical objects clacked against each other. "I have these Poké Balls for her as a parting gift. Couldn't you show her how to—?"

"How to catch Pokémon?" Ethan said, brows sky high. "But she already knows how!"

"I do?" I said.

"She does?" Elm said.

"Sure!" Ethan rolled his eyes. "Hoshi, why do you think I was always throwing rocks at stuff and playing catch with you? We were working on our aim, duh!" Before I could internalize that the many games of catch and throwing rocks at Remoraid we'd played as a kid had had a purpose other than childhood delinquency, Ethan snatched the bag of Balls from Elm's hand and fished one out. "Here," he said, pointing at the small white button on the Ball's front. "You just tap this button to expand the Ball and put it in catch mode, and then you throw it." He demonstrated, the Ball growing in size with a metallic click. "It'll engage a catch sequence if you hit the Pokémon with it, and that' really all you need to know and bye, I gotta go, see ya!"

And with that, Ethan shoved the Ball and bag into my hand and ran off, giving a wild whoop of joy as he did. His Marill finally managed to free itself, did a double-take, and ran off after its trainer with a cry that very clearly meant something along the lines of "Wait for me!" Elm and I stared after them for a moment or two, both of us a bit stunned, until Elm recovered and coughed into his fist.

"He certainly is an exuberant boy," Elm muttered. "Well, no matter. You have the Balls I wanted to give you and you know the basics of catching Pokémon." Once more he pushed his glasses up his nose, early morning sunlight glinting off them in a flash of silver. "Now, Hoshiko. May I ask if you know about the mandatory catch restrictions put in place for all trainers?"

"I think I do," I said. Ethan had bellyached about the limited number of Pokémon friends he could ever hope to make more than once. "You can only catch the first Pokémon you see in a Route or other government-recognized landscape, cave, area, park, or region. Something like that?"

"Correct," Elm said. "Your Pokédex will help you keep track of what you've caught and where, and it will alert you if you lose track and try to catch additional Pokémon."

I frowned. "Wait, really? I didn't know it could do that." The Pokémon games certainly hadn't mentioned this.

"It can." Elm's earlier mousey-ness vanished, a look of hard steel entering his normally absent gaze. "Be warned, Hoshiko. Attempts to circumvent or manipulate the First Encounter Mandate will not be tolerated, even if you're still a minor, and you _will_ get caught if you try." And then that look of steel was gone, replaced by an encouraging smile. "But if you stick to it and are honest, you'll be fine."

I barely heard him, however, mind occupied by the implications of what he'd said about my new Dex. "So does the Pokédex somehow track…?" I said, trailing off as I put a hand to my chin in thought.

Elm gave an "eep," one of alarm (or was it just surprise?) that drew my attention at once. He avoided my gaze, however, and darted around behind me to give my shoulders a gentle push. "Now, Hoshiko, do be careful, and have all the fun on your journey!"

"Elm, wait—" I said, trying to dig in my heels, but my leg hurt as it pushed against the bottom of the socket of my prosthetic; I had to let him push me forward. Elm's hands soon lifted from my shoulders, but by the time I turned around, he had taken off back toward town at a power-walk that bordered on an outright run, lab coat flapping behind him on the chilly air.

"Ta-ta, Hoshiko!" he called over his shoulder with one final parting wave. "I know you'll make us proud!"

Before I knew it, he had vanished around one of the houses on New Bark's outskirts. I stood there and stared after him until Hotaru gave a little burble of confusion. I bent and patted her head, scowling as I stared off into space.

"… why do I feel like they're just packing me off because I started asking inconvenient questions?" I muttered to myself.

Hotaru heard me, though. She lifted her head and stared after Elm, too, before giving a little malcontented grumble—one that sounded, I'm almost sure of it, as if she agreed with me.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, dappling Hotaru's dark back with pips of platinum light. She dashed ahead down the path and dived head-first into a pile of leaves, emerging from them with a spray of fallen foliage before rolling onto her back and thrashing in place, little peeps of happiness echoing through the trees of Route 29 with every wriggle. I'm sure I would've been cooing in delight at her antics if I hadn't felt the oddest sense of déjà vu as soon as we trekked into the forest and away from New Bark Town—only unlike the other time I'd walked this path with Hotaru at my side, there was no going back to my nice, warm bed at the end of the day, and there was no clear direction for me to take once I left New Bark. Just what the heck as I supposed to do with myself, anyway? It wasn't like I'd been sent on another errand to Mister Pokémon's house, and going to a gym didn't sound like a fun time. I had no real intention of trying to challenge the League, but what else was there to do on a journey? Most kids took a run at the league simply because it was expected. Of course, very few ever made it there, but…

"Man, Hotaru," I said, hooking my thumbs into the straps of my backpack. "I hope we figure out something to do to occupy ourselves."

She rolled onto her feet and trotted out of the leaf pile toward me. "Peep?"

"Gyms are tough. I don't know that I want to risk taking one on." I bit my lip and looked down at her sweet face. "But what do you—?"

I didn't get to finish asking. Hotaru's face, which had been pointed up toward mine, swung down and away, thin eyes trained on the trees behind me. She gave a low chirp, the spots on her back flaring burnt orange with sudden heat. It was all I could do to voice a dumb "Huh?" and turn around to look—and when I did I saw the underbrush begin to move. Hotaru hopped around my legs and stood between me and the brush before I could give her a command, but just as suddenly as she'd tensed up, the spots on her back went dark. She sat up on her haunches and sniffed the air before giving a little questioning burble, one I wasn't sure I understood.

A Sentret promptly hopped out of the brush before us.

I'd seen more than a few Sentrets since appearing in the Pokémon world. Ethan and I had chased a few of them up trees, offering the friendlier ones nuts sometimes, but by and large Sentret were fairly skittish Pokémon—so when this particular Sentret didn't scamper off into the bushes after seeing us, and instead walked confidently forward to hunker on the path with a growl, I was understandably confused. What was with Route 29 and rabid Sentrets, anyway?

"Oh dang, another Sentret," I muttered. "These things are—"

Something in my pocket beeped.

Frowning and keeping one eye on the bristling Sentret, I reached into my jacket's interior pocket and pulled out my Dex. It gave another metallic chime, and then another, a small red light on its case lighting up in time with the beeps. I stared at it with brow arched, and then I flinched as a voice echoed from a speaker I couldn't see.

"First Encounter Mandate sequence initiated," said my Dex in a brisk, feminine voice. "Please enter recording mode."

"Uh," I said, very eloquently, and I flipped open the device's cover with my thumb. The small screen inside lit up, and to my surprise it showed an image of my boot-covered feet—but the image was overlaid with a small, broken square that looked suspiciously like a viewfinder on a camera. I lifted the Dex experimentally and was rewarded when the image changed, reflecting the new direction in which I'd turned it. As soon as the viewfinder settled on the Sentret, the Dex gave another beep and froze the image, taking a photo of the Pokémon with a whirr of internal mechanisms. The image soon disappeared, however, a small, pixelated image of a rolling Poké Ball serving as a type of loading screen. It rolled and rolled until a stock image of a Sentret appeared, under which generated some black text.

"Sentret, the rodent Pokémon," the Dex began to tell me. "Its large tail—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." I shut the Dex's cover and shoved it in my pocket, where it continued to talk for a moment or two before falling quiet. Pasting on a winning smile, I knelt and held out my hand toward the Sentret. "Hey, little guy. Sorry for disturbing you. We're just passing—"

The Sentret growled, leapt forward, and aimed a swipe of its claws at Hotaru.

I stumbled backward with a cry, but Hotaru merely dodged out of the way. The Sentret darted back and then forward again, the pair of Pokémon dancing around one another in a series of dashes and dips before coming together in a mutual attempt at attacks—but to my surprise, they both stopped short and began slapping at each other with their paws, a play-fight like from the day before, until the Sentret lost balance and rolled away to crouch on the ground and growl at Hotaru.

Hotaru, meanwhile, just peeped and gave the Sentret one of her narrow-eyed smiles, sitting up on her haunches with a curious tilt of her head. She raised her paws and mimed slapping at the air with a happy burble; the Sentret's left eye twitched, tail lashing through the air behind it.

And suddenly Hotaru's friendly behavior made sense.

"Are you… are you the Sentret we met yesterday?" I said.

The Sentret's eye rolled in my direction; it chattered at me, tone high-pitched and whining—as if mocking the way I talked or something?

"Oh my god, I think you might actually be the Sentret we fought yesterday!" I said once I picked my jaw up off the floor. "So are you here for revenge, or…?"

Vehement chattering followed that statement.

"Well." I crossed my arms over my chest, unable to keep a bemused smile off my face. "You're very technically and on multiple levels the first Pokémon I've seen in this area, so… here goes nothing, I guess?" Taking a deep breath, I said, "Hotaru, use smokescreen."

She did so, lifting her snoot skyward to release a steady stream of white vapor. It filled the air before her with a swirling sphere, and before it thickened I saw the Sentret begin swinging its tail at the smoke, probably hoping to clear it away, but it was no use. Soon the field lay covered in a dense fog that reeked of ash and cinnamon.

I knelt and put my hand on Hotaru's back. "Hit it with one tackle, Hotaru, but be gentle, OK?" I whispered.

She peeped and hopped into the smoke. Soon I heard a chatter, and then a little thud, and then a burble of triumph. I shrugged out of my heavy jacket and lashed it through the air, thinning the smoke out as I wandered forward and tried to find my Pokémon.

Hotaru sat beside the Sentret with one paw resting gentle on the Sentret's back. The Sentret lay on the ground on its belly, eyes closed, and did not react when I fumbled a Poké Ball out of my pack and clicked the button. I didn't even have to throw the thing; I just knelt and dropped the Ball on the creature from a distance of a few inches, watching in fascination as the Pokémon turned into a field of red light and that disappeared into the Ball's interior. To my surprise, the Ball didn't shake or squirm. It just made a gentle "ding!" noise before shrinking back down again, and for a minute I was too stunned to realize what had just happened.

Had I… had I just caught my first wild Pokémon?

Any triumph I might have felt was short-lived, because as soon as the reality of the situation sank in, regret filled my chest to bursting. "I… I guess that's it," I said. I picked the Ball up off the ground and stared at it. "I feel kind of bad, though. It didn't seem to like us." To Hotaru I posed the question, "Should I have even tried to catch—?"

It was a question I would, both metaphorically and literally, never finish asking.

Hotaru heard them coming first, spots immediately blooming with heat as her pointed nose swung skyward, but the hoard of Pidgey that came flapping and squawking from the trees were upon her in mere moments. One dive bombed at my hair, tangling its claws my twin braids hard enough to rip some strands free; I batted it aside with a screech that matched its own, but it wasn't a screech of pain. It was a screech of fear and protective fury as Hotaru disappeared, bucking and flailing, beneath a mass of enraged bird Pokémon. "Hotaru, no!" I screamed, and without thinking I whipped my heavy leather jacket—still in my hand from when I used it to blow away the smoke—at the pack of Pidgeys. It swept two aside, but two more took their place, and with another scream I knocked them off of her, as well.

She appeared from beneath their bulk covered in castoff feathers, sides heaving up and down, flanks flecked with thin lines of blood welling from a dozen tiny cuts. One thin eye cracked open as I slammed to my knees next to her, not caring a lick about the socket of my prosthetic as tears sprang to my eyes and my throat threatened to close right up. I refused to cry, though, because Hotaru was looking at me with the most pitiful of peeps building in her throat, so with a wavering smile full of false, frantic confidence I wrapped her in my jacket and murmured, "Oh my god, baby, it's OK, I've got you."

A Pidgey flew at me, then, colliding with my shoulder and cawing all the while, but I just threw up my arm and knocked it back before lurching to my feet and taking off at a dead run, not caring in the slightest as the blisters on my leg reopened with a spark of wet, stinging pain, not caring at all that my prosthetic felt the littlest bit loose around my leg, not giving a single solitary damn that that Pidgey had torn a bit of my scalp away. There was only me, and there was only Hotaru in my arms, as I got out of there as fast as I could and headed for the gates of Cherrygrove.

* * *

NOTES

 _Doing things a little backward this week by starting with REVIEW THANKS! Thank you SO MUCH to those who reviewed last week; we had a record turnout that had me rolling on the floor in happiness. Couldn't do this without you, and you totally made my day! C S Stars, rickrossed, Sky65, proz0r, Teacup Galaxy, Dusky Raptor, Ravyn Moon 1313, birdyful yellow and three guests!_

 _Now for my usual notes. In my game, Hotaru weakened the Sentret we caught but was hit by a few rounds of "scratch." Then a Pidgey came out and hit her again before we could run, and she hit the red zone in her HP. We kept running into Pidgeys as we headed for a center, but luckily we managed to run from them all. Figured I should adapt our very first "close call" and not leave that out!_

 _Also the whole "we caught the Sentret we fought with in chapter three" thing is pure creative license. There's no way to know in-game if it was the same Sentret, but it was funny that our first encounter both times was with a Sentret, so I just imagine that this particular Sentret had been lying in wait for us ever since our first battle. Yay, creative license!_

 _And now we have our first new friend for Hotaru! Her name will be revealed next chapter, but for now, here are her stats:_

 **Sentret | LVL 3 | Girl | Brave | Likes to relax**

 _And since we've finally hit the point in the story in which we can catch Pokémon, it's time to list the rules of my Nuzlocke Run. Most of them don't apply until you can catch Pokémon (can't follow catch rules until you can catch Pokémon, after all), so I didn't see much point in unveiling them before now._

 _These are most of the rules; if others come up as I play, I'll let you know. Thanks!_

* * *

 **Standard Rules (pulled from the Nuzlocke Wiki):**

Nickname all Pokémon you catch or receive.

If your Pokémon faints, it has died and must be released, never to be used in battle again.

Catch only the first Pokémon you encounter in an area and no more. (I have created an in-universe explanation for this.)

If the first Pokémon you see in an area is a repeat of one you have already caught, you may try again until you see something new.

No using legendary Pokémon in battle.

Shiny Clause! Shinies can be caught even if you've already caught something. (I have thought of an in-universe excuse for this, too, but IDK if I'll have the luck of needing to explain it. It's a secret for now.)

If none of your caught Pokémon can use an HM needed to progress through the game's story, you may catch a Pokémon who can use that HM, BUT they may never be used to battle and are basically your HM mule for the rest of forever. Glorious!

* * *

 **Flavor Rules (AKA rules I made up that all have in-universe explanations):**

You may only buy five healing or status items from any given shop over the course of the game. You may purchase however many Poké Balls you wish.

You may NEVER purchase revives, and you may only use three revives (found during your travels) over the course of the game. These must be used DURING battle, not outside of it. Sell the rest.

If your opponent's Pokémon is made to faint in just one attack from your Pokémon (a one-hit KO), that Pokémon has been killed by your Pokémon. If an opponents' Pokémon faints after multiple hits, it has simply fainted. This ONLY applies to opponent Pokémon and not to the player's party.


	10. Chapter 10: Cherrygrove City & Route 30

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 10:

"Cherrygrove City & Route 30"

* * *

The minute the nurse came out of the back room, I bolted to my feet and crowded the front counter, leaning halfway over it as the nurse gave me a heaping helping of side-eye. "Miss Hoshiko?" he said, reading from the tag taped to the edge of the tray in his hands.

"Yes?" I said, unable to keep the impatience from my voice.

He set the tray down on the counter; it looked like the inside of an egg carton, two of the depressions on its shiny plastic surface filled with red and white Poké Balls. "Here are your Pokémon, fully healed and ready to go," he said, sliding the tray toward me.

"Oh my god, _thank you._ " I picked the Balls up and held them tight, one in each hand, the hard knot in my chest relaxing as I turned to leave.

But I didn't get far. "Wait just one second," the nurse said. He put his hands on his hips, glaring down the length of his nose. "Your Cyndaquil was in bad shape. Do try to be more careful next time, miss."

I ducked my head, cheeks flushing with shame. "Thank you. Yes. I will," I said, and I began to back away with a perhaps unnecessary bow. "I'll take good care of them. For sure. Thank you."

"And give that Sentret a nickname while you're at it!" the nurse called after me as I spun on my heel and marched away. "You can do it through your Pokédex, if you have one, or the PC in the corner, if you don't!"

I waved at him over my shoulder, but I didn't say anything else—because he was not the one I wanted to be talking to just then.

The Center's main waiting area—all pristine lavender tile, plush couches and chairs, and sensible fluorescent lights—flew by in a blur as I headed off down a side hallway past the gender-segregated showers, communal kitchen, and enormous room of bunkbeds where a few trainers, merchants, and other travelers lounged with their Pokémon companions. I didn't pay them any mind, even though a few waved hello. Instead I made a beeline for the door at the end of the hall and walked through it, into the walled-off yard I'd discovered while anxiously pacing the building as I waited for Hotaru to come back from being healed. The yard wasn't huge, but it was quite nice, complete with a pocket playground for playful Pokémon, a pond for water types, and a small section of curated and manicured trees for birds and types who liked to climb. As I'd ignored the Center's other features, so too did I ignore these, heading instead for a bench at the edge of the yard next to the high stone wall keeping it contained from the outside elements. I sat on this bench and summoned Hotaru in the same two-second period, watching with my heart in my mouth as she appeared before me on the ground in a burst of red light.

"Hotaru—" I said.

She looked up at me.

My words died in my throat.

Hotaru cocked her head to one side in a question, but I couldn't give her any answers. I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat as I looked at her healed body and bright eyes, trying in vain to summon the words I'd practiced and practiced and practiced while she was being treated, but none came. None came, and I just sat there, until she gave a little peep and hopped up onto the bench at my side.

I put my hand on her head.

She nudged into it, eyes happy little crescents above her pointed nose.

I found my voice again.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I said, thumb brushing down the length of her snout. "I'm so sorry you got so hurt. I was off my guard and wasn't paying attention and—"

Hotaru peeped and shrugged my hand aside, but she didn't reject me. Instead she climbed on my lap and sat on her haunches, front paws resting against my chest as she snuffled my face and gave my cheek a lick. I couldn't help but smile, especially when she flopped sideway and rolled onto her back so she could start wriggling, peeping and chirping with glee as I tried to hold on and not let her fall to the ground. It was impossible not to grin and laugh as she performed her Weasel War Dance, and when she finally stilled in order to close her eyes and curl up in my lap like a little warm coal, I knew she wasn't holding a grudge for the Pidgey incident. Call me crazy, but I just knew.

I petted her head and closed my eyes with a long, relieved sigh. "I promise I'll be more careful, OK?"

Hotaru peeped.

"But if you're really mad at me and want to go back to Professor Elm's house—"

Her eyes opened. She shook her head before butting it against my stomach, small grumbles of disgruntlement rumbling in her chest.

"OK, fine," I said, laughing. "You're staying with me." I reached into my pocket. "And speaking of staying with me. What should be do about this?"

Hotaru hopped off my lap and onto the bench, sniffing at the Poké Ball lying atop my palm with obvious curiosity. I traced a pattern on the side of the ball with my thumb, scowling as I looked at its shiny red surface.

"I'm a little worried she doesn't actually want to be our new pal," I said—and when Hotaru looked up at me with a peep, I rubbed the back of my neck. "Oh. The Pokédex recorded her data when we caught her, and she's a girl like you and me. I checked it out while you were getting treated."

Hotaru chirped, happily it seemed, and went back to sniffing the ball. Aside from revealing the Sentret's gender, the Pokédex had also provided me with a field for naming her. Apparently the Dex was capable of registering a Pokémon to a trainer, initiating a registration sequence that included the ability to assign a nickname to every catch. I hadn't had the heart to fill out the Sentret's name, though—which was annoying, because the Dex had been giving me little chiming reminders to name the damn Sentret every ten minutes since I caught her that morning. Ugh. Where was the snooze button when you needed one?

"What should we do?" I said when Hotaru finished sniffing. "She didn't look happy to see us when we first saw her." My teeth worried my bottom lip. "Is it ethical to force a Pokémon to—?"

Before I could finish, Hotaru nudged the button on the front of the Ball with the tip of her nose. I tried to protest, but it was too late: Another beam of red light shot out of the ball, coalescing into the form of the Sentret in about two seconds' time. She sat on the ground at my feet, crouched low with tail stretched out behind her, eyes closed as her fur fluffed up and she shook herself like a dog waking from a long nap.

"Uh," I said. "Hi?"

Her eyes opened. Slowly the Sentret sat up, looking first at me and then at Hotaru with the Sentret equivalent of a grumpy scowl. Then, however, her eyes traveled over my shoulder, and with a whip of her thick tail she turned herself around. I'm not sure if she liked what she saw in the Center's yard, but after a moment's inspection, she turned back around again. Eyed me over once. Eyed Hotaru over twice.

Then she dropped onto her belly, curled her legs under her, and wrapped her tail around herself in preparation for a nice nap.

Hotaru and I exchanged a Look. Gingerly, every movement deliberate and slow, I eased myself onto the ground, my metal leg extending off to one side as I got on eye level with the sleeping Sentret.

"Uh. Sorry to disturb you—but I'm the trainer who caught you earlier," I said, not sure if I was correct to feel as infinitely silly as I did just then. "My name is Hoshiko, and this is Hotaru."

On the bench, Hotaru peeped. The Sentret cracked one dark eye and looked at me and Hotaru briefly. In short order she shut it again, face mostly hidden by her fluffy tail.

"…um?" I shook my head and took a deep breath. "Listen. It felt like you were waiting around for us to come back so you could get payback from when we fought yesterday, and… I was excited to get a new friend, and I caught you without asking."

The Sentret's eyes both opened that time. She pushed up off the ground with her front legs, peering up at me with another of her scowls—but this one was accompanied by a curios tilt of her head, ears swaying like miniature sails.

"So, now I'm asking," I continued. "If you want to go back to Route 29, I can formally release you and escort you home, no problem. If you're gonna stay with us, I would hope it's because you consent to do so, and not because this—" I held up her Ball "—keeps you bound to me."

The Sentret's eyes narrowed. With new interest she looked me over again, eyes lingering on the Ball in my slightly unsteady hand.

"And… yeah. That's about it." Clearing my throat, I offered her a smile. "So, girl. What do you say?"

I couldn't help but hold my breath as the Sentret thought about it. Again she eyed Hotaru and me, turning once more to survey the playground, pond, and climbing area of the Center's walled-off yard. Her eyes stayed on the wall for a while, looking it up and down a few times before finally turning back.

Hotaru chose that moment to peep.

The Sentret looked at her, watching as Hotaru hopped off the bench and approached with a series of small vocalizations—ones the Sentret replied to with a chatter and squeak of her own. They made sounds back and forth, communicating stars-knew-what to each other over the course of maybe a minute and a half. I could only watch, uncertain and nervous, as Hotaru at last fell silent and the Sentret turned my way. She walked right up to me, marching between my splayed legs, and the she rocked backward and up to balance on her long tail. That put us nose to nose, her intense and beady eyes boring into mine like an awl.

"Um?" I said.

The Sentret stared some more—and just as I started to speak again, unnerved by her steady gaze, she gave a curt nod. The creature dropped down to her feet and off of her tail, once again curling up in her napping posture with a sigh.

"… I guess that means you're not too mad about our situation," I muttered after a minute of stunned silence. "So… OK, then?" I looked to Hotaru for confirmation. "She's coming with us?"

Hotaru peeped happily, doing a little wriggle of delight; the Sentret opened one eye and harrumphed, eye rolling at Hotaru's antics, but Hotaru kept dancing unperturbed. I don't blame her. I almost wanted to dance, myself. The Sentret wasn't bolting for the hills and had apparently agreed to come along, so… that meant she consented to being caught, it seemed. And that was a very good thing for my sense of moral integrity, for sure.

"Right. Well, then!" I clapped my hands together, smile broad and bright. "We should probably give you a nickname, in that case. How about… Fumi?"

The Sentret grumbled, not bothering to open her eyes; I took that as a "no."

"Naomi?" I suggested instead.

Another grumbled, this one accompanied by a displeased bristle of her fur.

"Izumi?"

She gave outright growl at that.

"Erm…" I wracked my brains for something that might fit her. "How about 'Hibiki,' then?"

Her eyes snapped open. The creature sat up and burbled, sound happy and most definitely an affirmation.

"All right, great!" I said with another clap of my hands. "Hibiki it is. Which makes us Hotaru, Hibiki, and Hoshi—" I stopped. Thought about it. Panicked. "Wait, we can't _all_ have H names!"

My protest came too late, as my protests are wont to do. From inside my pocket my Pokédex said, "Name registered; "Hibiki" the Sentret has been successfully registered to trainer Uehara Hoshiko."

"Aw, hell!" I swore.

Hibiki chittered—an impish little laugh if I've ever heard one—and tucked her nose beneath her tail for a well-deserved nap.

* * *

The doors of the PokéMart slid open automatically, sending a rush cool, dry air across my cheeks upon approach. Hotaru shivered by my ankles, but she flared the spots on her back and shook off the chill without issue. The man behind the counter looked up from his magazine with a polite smile; said smile widened as we came inside and I began to peruse the many shelves stocked with Pokémon food (sorted by Pokémon type, of course), toys for Pokémon and humans alike, and sundry. Call me crazy, but I swear I felt his eyes on the back of my head as I inspected a row of dolls shaped like Clefairy, and I had to wonder if he hadn't had many customers yet today or something. Marts, I'd been told, weren't the most well-trafficked of stores, and for good reason.

When I didn't see what I wanted on the shelves, I braced myself and headed for the counter. The man behind it beamed when I walked up and gave him a polite smile. The expression caused the shimmering burn scar on the left side of his face, one that stretched from his collarbone to his hairline, to twist and ripple like spilled paint. The skin over the associated eye drooped, narrowing his gaze to a mere sliver, and above that eye he lacked any sign of brow. Otherwise he had wispy grey hair and weathered skin, hands gnarled with more burn scars when he clasped them atop the counter.

"Uh. Hi," I said. "Can I please get—?"

He held up one twisted finger. "Not so fast, rookie. I'm gonna need to see some ID."

"… sure."

He watched, enormous smile not fading a watt, as I took out my wallet and handed over my ID. He swiped it through a card reader built into the counter and then finger-pecked a few commands into the PC next to it, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he laboriously typed something. Soon his dark eyes lit up; he passed his hand through his hair with a low whistle.

"Never been shopping at a PokéMart before, eh?" he said.

"Nope. Just grocery stores and stuff." A beat. "Wait. How'd you know?"

He sounded like a Murkrow when he laughed, croaking and sonorous. "Can't exactly ration goods if you don't keep track of who buys what, now can we?" He patted the thin monitor of his PC. "There's a special PC system the Marts use to keep a record. And you, rookie, have never been to this PokéMart before—or _any_ Mart before, it seems." Another loud laugh, hand slapping his thigh. "Your record's as blank as a Slowpoke's face!"

"I see," I said. "Well, let's change that. Can I please get—?"

Again, he held up a finger. "Not so fast, rookie." What was that, his catch phrase? "You know how this works, dontcha?"

"Of course," I said. "Five healing items per shop per trainer and no more."

"With the exception of Poké Balls," he added. "You can have as many of those as you can carry, provided you have the cash." At that he heaved a nostalgic sigh, eyes rolling skyward. "They overproduced so many in the War, we still can't sell 'em fast enough to clear the warehouses, and it's been thirty years. But you should consider yourself lucky, rookie. Back in my day we couldn't even buy potions. They were all requisitioned by the government and sent to the front lines, and—"

I listened as politely as I could while he lamented the current state of item rationing and the overabundance of Poké Balls. I'd heard this tale before a time or two, about potions and antidotes and other items being notoriously difficult and costly to make, rendering them scarce even thirty years after the Great War. Poké Balls, however, were another story entirely. Mass farming of wild Pokémon to aid the War effort had resulted in the overproduction of catch items, with stockpiles of Balls still lingering in warehouses to this day. Hilariously ironic, that overabundance. You could catch only a limited number of Pokémon after over-farming led to stringent catch restrictions, but you could carry your weight in Poké Balls—provided you had the cash to buy them, of course.

"Yes, you rookies are lucky the government relaxed the rationing for your generation, that's for sure," he said, and with another sigh the old man shook his head. "But enough of my prattle. What can I do ya for?"

"Three potions and two antidotes, please." I slapped my money on the counter. "Plus as many Poké Balls as this can buy—oh, and a bag of Fire-type Pokémon food." Sentrets were better off scavenging, I'd been told a long time ago.

The shopkeeper adopted an absolutely enormous smile at that. "Comin' right up," he said. Behind him stood a closed and locked cabinet; he opened it with the aid of a key he wore around his neck. "You'll clean out the rest of my potion stock, which means you came just at the right time."

The cabinet was indeed mostly empty, with only a few spray-canisters of various healing items on display. I'd never actually seen a potion in person. It looked oddly ordinary in its white and purple can with attached spray nozzle, but I knew the contents inside of it were anything but. A liquid that could instantly knit cracked bones, repair torn muscle tissue, and smooth broken skin? Talk about liquid gold…

He removed three canisters of potion (the only ones he had) and two antidote packets and slid them toward me across the counter, along with a bag of seven Poké Balls and a sack of my requested food. "And here you are," he said, giving me a flourishing bow. "Travel safe, rookie."

"I will." I stuffed the items carefully in my backpack and returned his bow with a small faux-curtsy, which earned me another creaking laugh. "Thank you. Now come along, Hotaru."

The aforementioned peeped and bunny hopped after me. The man laughed again, but the sound cut off midway through a particularly hearty chuckle.

"Oh, and watch out for the trainers north of town!" he called. "They're all spoiling to fight young rookies like you!"

I looked over my shoulder and grinned. "Thanks for the tip!"

It was only midafternoon, and according to the nurse manning the front desk of the Center, we had plenty of time before night fell and would have no trouble making it to Azalea before dark. Hotaru hopped along at my side as we navigated through the streets of Cherrygrove and approached the enormous stone gate at its northern edge—a gate that matched the one to the east, where we'd first met Silver.

Silver.

Part of me wanted to stay in Cherrygrove for the night, but if I recalled the games correctly, I wasn't destined to meet Silver in this city again. If I wanted answers—and believe you me, I did want answers—I'd need to move on, and fast.

If Hotaru sensed my urgency, she didn't give me any indication. She hopped beside me down the gravel road of Route 30 without complaint, peeping happily when she found a leaf pile to disturb and throw into the air with her long nose. I wondered if she had any anxiety about passing the spot where we'd seen the Rattata die, but if Hotaru sensed my feelings about that, too, she also gave no indication. Still, I couldn't help—as we passed beneath the shade of the trees lining the narrow road—but take a deep breath and pause. She hopped a few steps ahead before stopping and turning my way with a quizzical tilt of her head.

"Hey, Hotaru?" I said. "You let me know if you get tired of walking, OK? We can let Hibiki have a turn if you want to go back into your Ball for any reason."

Hotaru's head tilted even further, confusion evident on her face—and then she shook her head. No, she was fine. Maybe I had no reason to worry, after all.

Feeling a bit better, I lifted my wrist and activated my PokéGear. "Anyway." I consulted my map for a minute before letting the Gear go dark. "It shouldn't be too far and the path is clearly marked, so we should—"

From within my jacket pocket a smooth female voice proclaimed, "First Encounter Mandate sequence initiated. Please enter recording mode."

I looked down at my chest and blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Please enter recording mode," the Dex repeated.

Hotaru tensed. I froze, too, slowly removing my Dex from my coat and turning on my heel in a tight circle. I spun three times, but I saw nothing and had to look at Hotaru with a perplexed scowl. "But here aren't any Pokémon here, are there?"

"Please point the viewfinder at the Pokémon," the Dex told me, red light on its cover pulsing like an impatient eye.

I stared at the Dex. "This thing's broken, right, Hotaru?" I said, glancing down at her. "There aren't any—?"

Hotaru, however, wasn't looking at me anyone.

No. Hotaru's narrow eyes had shifted behind me, toward the darkness of the forest lining the path. I followed her gaze, staring owlishly into the trees—and then, so softly I almost didn't hear it, there came a sound like dry leaves crunching underfoot. It repeated a few times, guiding me eventually to the sight of a dusky off-yellow lump clinging to the front of a nearby tree. It was maybe a foot and a half long, sort of tube-shaped with a pointed tip, and its glistening hide was only barely a different color than the rough bark of the tree behind it. No wonder I hadn't noticed it at first.

As if it heard my thoughts, the lump vibrated, and from it came another set of those leaf-crunching noises—noises that now sounded very much like soft, sibilant laughter.

I raised my Dex, flipped open the cover, and watched as it snapped a photo. The photo soon turned into a stock photo of a Pokémon.

"Kakuna, the armor Pokémon," the Dex said. "Kakuna uses its tough shell—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it." I shoved the Dex into my jacket again, listening as it continued to speak and then eventually fell silent. Taking a slow step forward, I raised my hands and tried to look nonthreatening. "Well. Um. Hi, Kakuna. Would you like to—?"

My pocket—the one on the left side of my jacket, down by the lower hem—thrummed. I started to put my hand to it, but before I could even remove Hibiki's Ball, there came a digital click and a beam of red light shot forth. Hibiki appeared on the ground before me with a chatter and, without waiting for my command, darted through the underbrush to the Kakuna's tree. She skittered up it with her claws, paused, then did an impressive series of ricocheting leaps off an adjacent trunk. I watched in awe as she did a lithe jump-kick off the back of the Kakuna, one that knocked the opponent Pokémon loose and sent it dropping like a stone into the bushes below. Hibiki followed; the bushes rattled, and then Hibiki appeared with the Kakuna in tow, rolling it toward me across the ground with the tip of her stubby snout.

She then struck a pose: one foot on the Kakuna's domed back, front paw raised into the air, her tail a flag of triumph in the air behind her.

"… yes, Hibiki, great job," I said, giving her a golf-clap (Hotaru sat up on her haunches and did the same, delighted at the sounds her paws made). "But wait for me to say 'go' next time, OK?"

She blinked. Put a hand to her chin. Thought about it. Gave a smart nod of affirmation and hopped over the Kakuna to stand at my feet, stance poised and ready to go as soon as I gave her a command. At least she learned fast, right?

Side-stepping Hibiki, I walked to the Kakuna and knelt beside it. As I approached, it shivered and rolled over to expose its underside—one that bore two tiny round eyes, pure black and gleaming, and no other features to speak of. Kind of alien-looking, when you got down to it, but then again, so were most Pokémon in this strange world.

"Um. Hey, little fella," I said to it. "Would you like to—?"

The Kakuna rolled onto its face again, and then it pulled its body tight, shortening itself by about three inches. Then it stretched back out. Pulled back in. Stretched out. Pulled in. Slowly, bit by bit, it dragged itself across the gravel ground—heading inexorably for Hibiki, who had scampered to my side to watch the Kakuna move. She moved aside when it got close; it promptly changed trajectory, coming at her again. I stared with my mouth open, resisting the urge to scratch my head. Was it running away? Trying to fight Hibiki? Maybe attempting to play with her? Hard to tell. Hell, it barely even had a face, features as inscrutable as a mummy mask. How could I talk to it, see if it wanted to go with me, when it didn't even have a _face?_

"Well. OK then." I opened my pack and pulled out my bag of Poké Balls. "We'll catch it and then talk to it somewhere less exposed to chat, like we did with you, Hibiki." I fished out a Ball and activated it. "Here goes."

The Kakuna hadn't managed to get far by the time I readied myself for a catch. I readjusted, squatting next to the Kakuna as it headed for Hibiki, and held the Ball about a foot over the middle of its back. Seemed a waste to try and throw it, so instead I just sort of… let it drop. It hit the Kakuna on the back of its head and split in two, breaking open along the seam between its red and white halves with a digital whooshing noise.

The Kakuna vanished into the Ball's interior.

Half a second later it reappeared with a crack and a burst of red light, Poké Ball bouncing broken to the dirt beside the Pokémon.

"What the—?!" I said, and the Kakuna made that dry-leafed noise it had made before. I grit my teeth, stood, and backed away about a foot. "OK, then, Hibiki. I guess trying scratching it."

She did so with gusto, spinning around on her tail before aiming her claws at the Kakuna's back—but her paw glanced harmlessly away with a nearly metallic _schwing!_ Hibiki recoiled and shrieked, clutching her paw to her chest with an angry chatter after scampering to regroup behind my legs.

The Kakuna made that leaf-rustle sound again.

Oh, yeah. For sure. It was _definitely_ laughing at us.

"Hotaru," I said, shooting a glance at her. "Try a smoke screen!"

Hotaru, standing off by the side of the path, gave a peep of confirmation. She dropped down to all fours and flared her back-spots, nose trickling a trail of smoke—and only belatedly did I realize I was standing next to her target. Her smoke covered me and Hibiki as well as the Kakuna in a reeking cloud, so of course Hibiki and I both started choking and hacking as Hotaru gave a dismayed peep.

The Kakuna, though?

Yeah. It just started laughing again.

I would've seen red if my vision hadn't been obscured by white smoke, eyes stinging and streaming with tears. "Oh, that does it!" I growling through clenched teeth. Batting aside the smoke until I saw the Kakuna, I activated another Poké Ball. "Take this!"

I dropped the Ball on its head.

The damn bug broke free in about two seconds.

"Dammit!" My shriek was so loud, a flock of Pidgeys took flight from the nearby trees. "How 'bout another one, huh?!"

The Kakuna laughed.

I threw the Ball.

It broke again.

The Kakuna laughed some more.

"Oh for the love of—" I swore so colorfully that Hibiki looked up at me in shock (but then she started chirping encouragements so I guess she wasn't too scandalized). Brandishing another Ball, I warbled, "Get in the dang ball, whydontcha?!"

I tried over and over again to catch that Kakuna. The Balls kept breaking, the Kakuna wriggling free over and over again even after Hotaru used her smokescreen and Hibiki leered at it and even tried scratching it a few more times, all efforts met with limited success. Eventually I was reduced to just two Poké Balls, which I stared at forlornly as Hibiki angry-screamed at the Kakuna and Hotaru tried desperately to calm her with some reassuring chirps.

The Kakuna, meanwhile, was laughing at us. _As always._

Did I even _want_ to catch this little asshole bug-thing, at this point?

Taking a deep breath, I clenched my fist around one of my remaining Poké Balls. "OK. Now I'm annoyed," I grumbled at the giggling Kakuna. I knelt by its head and pointed at its face, trying to look intimidating. "You get in the ball and you stay there, mister sir!" I shook my finger at it. "I'm warning you!"

Its laughing ceased.

It rolled to the side and stared at me.

Its eyes narrowed.

And then, again, it laughed at my expense.

I probably went purple at that point, and I didn't even bother with words. I just groaned and chucked my damn Ball at it, watched the thing disappear in a flash of red, reminded myself that punting a Kakuna was probably tantamount to child abuse, and swore up and down that if this Ball didn't work I would not, I repeat, _I would not waste my final Ball on this smarmy little assho—_

The Ball hit the ground as the Kakuna vanished, and then it shook once, then twice from side to side.

I held my breath.

The Ball shook a final time.

And then the Ball stilled, a tiny electric chime of victory pinging through the quiet forest air.

In my excitement, I think I leapt three feet straight into the air, staggering a little when I came back down to earth. Hibiki screamed out a chirp of triumph and scaled my leg, winding her thick tail around my neck as she grabbed fistfuls of my hair and tugged, shrieking her conquest to the heavens. Hotaru yelled, too, parading around me in a circle doing her Weasel War Dance while I boogied in place and pumped a fist skyward.

"Hell yeah!" I bellowed. "We did it, girls!"

More peeping and chattering and shrieking followed, the H-Squad unable to contain its collective excitement at gaining a new friend. We probably looked quite the mess, all ash-streaked and sweaty as we were, but I could hardly be compelled to care as we celebrated. Eventually my voice went hoarse, however; I pulled out my Pokédex, which had begun prompting me to decide on a name for my new catch, and stared at the Kakuna's Ball where it lay upon the ground.

"Well, let's see, girls," I told them. "Why don't we investigate the new friend's gender and then decide on a—"

Unfortunately, before I could express my desire to just pick a nickname and be done with it so the Dex would stop yelling at me, the bushes off the side of the path began to rustle.

I reacted at once, because no way in hell was I going to let my Pokémon get attacked by another horde of Pidgey like last time. I shoved away the Dex, snatched up the Kakuna's Ball and recalled Hibiki as I moved to stand over Hotaru, placing her between my spread feet in a protective stance. We watched in tense silence as the bushes rattled again, both of us having learned our lesson—but instead of a flock of irate Pidgeys, something else entirely emerged from the brush.

It was a little boy.

Well, it was a preteen boy wearing baggy shorts and a t-shirt, but you get the idea—he was a very human child, not a dangerous Pokémon, and absolutely the last thing I'd expected to see come stumbling from the brush. I stared at him with my jaw dropped; the minute he saw me, he reached up and tugged his blue baseball cap low over his eyes. His other hand disappeared into his pocket and out of sight.

"Hey, you!" he said.

I blinked; I pointed at myself. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" Thin, dirt-streaked arms crossed over his chest. "You just caught a Pokémon, didn't you?"

"… I mean. I might've?" I said. "Who wants to know?"

Still grasping the brim of his cap, the boy grinned. "Heh. I'm glad you asked," he said—and his other hand emerged from his pocket holding a shiny red Poké Ball, which he held my way in challenge. "My name is Joey, and I challenge you to a Pokémon battle!"

* * *

NOTES:

 _We caught another crew member!_

 _ **KAKUNA | LVL 3 | Boy | Sassy | Likes to run| Knows "harden,"**_ _which he used OVER AND OVER AGAIN to keep from getting caught, much to my chagrin. He literally wasted ALL OF MY POKE BALLS BUT ONE. That jerk._

 _Next time: How will Hoshiko and company fare against the infamous Youngster Joey and his beloved, top-percent Rattata? Find out next Wednesday!_

 _Also, we got more info about Marts, rationing, why Pokémon catch restrictions are in place, etc. Hope you liked these tidbits! I really wanted to make the item limits and catch restrictions of a Nuzlocke have in-world explanations, not just be random/arbitrary parts of the story._

 _Also, Hibiki's name means "echo" in Japanese, which fits her since Sentret use sound to alert others of danger and stuff… but only belatedly did I realize we all had H names and that my life was about to get super confusing. (face palm) Let's hope this Kakuna doesn't insist on being named Harold or something… the "One Steve Limit" trope exists for a reason, people!_

 _So many gushing thanks to those who reviewed last week! Love hearing all your thoughts; you keep me going! These folks are the absolute best: C S Stars, Eekipoo, birdyful yellow, Zynis, Ravyn Moon 1313, and frankieu!_


	11. Chapter 11: The Narrator's Past

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 11:

"The Narrator's Past; Route 30"

* * *

"If I'm being completely honest," she said, "Pokémon Go sounds kind of scary."

I looked up from my game with brow hitched. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Alex and I sat at our favorite café. Her copy of Sapphire Version (her favorite game of them all) beeped in her hands; she cursed and thumbed in a few commands, grinning when the battle victory music played. My copy of Black 2 lay off and dark next to my plate of strawberry cake; I'd put the game away when my food arrived. Alex saved her game and set hers aside, too, digging into her own cake with gusto. Around us sat other people eating dinner or cake, but none of them carried DS devices like we did. Alex and I were alone in our Pokémon preference. For that reason we got together a lot to play our Pokémon games (because so few of our other friends played, too), and also to eat cake while we did it. I'm hard-pressed to say which part of our weekly get-togethers was my favorite, but I digress.

"I mean." Alex hefted a bite of cake. "In the Gameboy games, if you make eye contact, you have to battle, right?" she said around a mouthful of chocolate sponge.

I crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair to listen. "Right. And?"

"So when Pokémon Go comes out in a few months, if someone sees me from across the street, are they gonna run headlong into traffic to battle me?" She was mostly joking, grinning around her fork, but she adopted an air of sarcastic gravity to elaborate. "If I'm in a hurry, can I not back out? If I lose, do I have to Venmo them all my money?"

"I think the latest press release said battles are only going to be at, like, gyms or whatever."

"Nah." Another bite of cake; another grin. "I think we're gonna have mass pandemonium. Battling in the streets, on planes, between cars on our morning commutes." She tried to affect a solemn gaze and a tone like a droning lecturer, but a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "The world changed the day Pokémon Go came out, the historians will say. Mere eye contact was cause for a battle to the death."

"Cars crashed in pursuit of rare Pokémon," I added, adopting her solemn intonation, too. "Refusing battles is made illegal."

Alex nodded. "Nintendo became a political power the likes of which we've never seen."

"And you join a team, right?" I sat up straight and tried to look morose. "The rivalries between the teams start international wars and fights for dominance. Pokémon became an integral part of the political landscape."

"When the president joined Team Valor," Alex said, "decades-old alliances between countries crumbled overnight."

"And there were civilian casualties, of course, when an Articuno spawned in the White House and nerds defied the Secret Service in pursuit."

"And there, at the center of the chaos, stood Nintendo," said Alex. "Laughing. Reveling in the way they shaped the world."

"And rolling in the money they made, of course," I said.

She nodded. "That, too."

For a minute we held each other's gazes, playing up our faux-seriousness, but eventually neither of us could keep a straight face anymore. We burst into laughter and tucked back into our cake, eating in companionable, glowy silence. It was nice to have a nerd-buddy. Even in our mid-to-late-20s, we both loved to play the Pokémon games. We'd grown up with them, had met in college, and had quickly realized as we entered adulthood that not all of our former nerd-buds still loved Pokémon like we did. Hence our cake-meets. "Cakey-mon," as Alex sometimes called them, and then we'd talk about how they needed a cake-type-monster to complement Vanillite. You could put a Litwick on top of a cake-monster's head, get that good birthday symbiosis going…

Alex put down her fork. "In all seriousness, I don't know how people in the Pokémon world function, if mere eye contact signals intent to battle. Maybe I just wanna go to the store in peace, y'know?"

I put down my fork, too. "Concept: Walk around with sunglasses and try not to look like you own Pokémon."

"I bet there're infomercials for glasses like that in the Poké-verse," she said.

"Think there's a Poké-verse equivalent for Billy Mays?" I wondered.

"Damn, I hope so." She put a finger to her chin. "Say. Does the eye contact rule apply to kids?"

"I mean, in the games there are definitely children who—"

She clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh god I just pictured random adults targeting random children with Pokémon to steal their lunch money."

I cackled. "Oh, you looked me in the eye, Little Timmy! Let's see your level three Pidgey take down my Charizard!" I slapped the table and let me hands fly skyward. "BOOM! Little Timmy's Pidgey is roasted and center stage on the Thanksgiving table." At that thought I winced. "Oof. Talk about trauma."

"Makes you wonder if lawyers make a lot in the Pokémon world," Alex said. "Sue for emotional damages and whatnot."

I said to Alex, "I pray we never find out."

We said "cheers" to that and continued to make jokes for the next hour, until our batteries wore down and we left the café to head home.

I'd told her I hoped neither of us ever learned the truth of battles triggered by eye contact in jest.

Neither of us could have possibly known my hopes were in vain, and that not too far in the future, I'd be finding out that truth firsthand.

* * *

As far as I could tell, there was no real use arguing with a trainer when they wanted to battle. Might as well just go along with it and spare yourself the effort of protestation, because if other trainers were anything like Joey, they'd summon a Pokémon into battle before your jaw could even finish dropping in surprise.

He didn't even let me acknowledge his request to battle before summoning a vivid purple Rattata to the field, he was so eager to get started. A flash of red light whipped out of his proffered Poké Ball and hit the ground with a burst of red sparks, and that was that—we were about to battle, if the fur rising along the Rattata's back and the low growl issuing from behind its buck teeth were any indication.

So maybe the games weren't entirely unrealistic, after all. Make eye contact, and you're doomed to a battle whether you like it or not.

Luckily Hibiki was rarin' to go. She gave a raucous chatter and clambered down the length of my body, claws pricking my skin through my clothes, before squaring up across from the Rattata. For a minute I considered recalling her and letting Hotaru take this, but when Hibiki rocked up onto her tail and let out a war cry, I reconsidered. Something told me Hibiki was much keener to battle Hotaru, anyway.

Hotaru.

At the thought of her, I looked down to find her crouched behind my boots, peering around them at the Rattata with eyes even more narrow than usual. "You OK, girl?" I murmured, but she just gave a quiet peep and a curt nod of her conical head. Hibiki looked over her shoulder at the sound and gave a little chirp in answer, one paw rising upward in a closed fist of declaration. Tension seemed to drain out of Hotaru at that; her haunches relaxed, and her head came up a little higher to watch the fight unfold.

"You ready, lady?" Joey said.

I tore my eyes from my Pokémon and nodded. "Sure."

His eyes gleamed—and then they drifted down, first to Hotaru and then to my leg. His eyes widened, the way most people's did when they saw it, but he just tugged his hat down low over his eyes and scowled.

"I _won't_ go easy on you," Joey told me. "So gimme all you got, huh?"

I nodded. "Roger that."

Joey didn't need any further preparation. His hand rose into the air, one finger pointed at Hibiki. "Basket toss, Mickey!"

At the sound of that odd cry, the entirety of Team H froze in place.

Our opponents, however, did the opposite. At Joey's words, his Rattata—Mickey—darted forward and performed a flying leap. I thought he intended to strike Hibiki straight on, but his leap had aimed too high and instead he sailed right over her stunned head—and wait a minute, that wasn't a mistake at all, because mid-flight the Rattata ducked his head and did a neat aerial flip, on his spinning descent aiming his rear claws at Hibiki's back. They struck her dead on; she screeched and fell forward, flopping of off her tail and landing face down on the dirt. As the Rattata hit the dirt, sliding away from Hibiki with a skidding landing, Hibiki scrambled upright and spun, baring her teeth at Mickey with a shriek of indignation.

The Rattata, still recovering from its leap, had its back to Hibiki—and seeing an opportunity, I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Scratch it, Hibiki!" I said.

She chattered an affirmative and skittered forward, aiming her attack at Mickey's flank. It struck home; he staggered with a whine of pain, and even though I felt sorry for him, I couldn't help but flash a proud smile at Hibiki—but behind her, standing across from me on the other side of the gravel road, I saw Joey scowl.

He wasn't scowling at Hibiki or Mickey, though. He wasn't scowling at the battle or the players present in it.

He was scowling straight at me.

Not that he gave me much time to ponder that, why he aimed ire at me personally and not at the unfolding battle. No sooner had Hibiki finished swinging did he raise his hand again and declare, "Zigzag, Mickey!"

Mickey's round ears perked at the sound of his trainer's voice; he rallied, spinning in place before darting to Hibiki's right. She turned to intercept, but to my surprise (not to mention hers), he feinted back to her left and aimed another scratch at her. She only barely managed to dodge in time, using her tail to propel her backward across the ground and away from the pursuing Mickey.

"Scratch him again, Hibiki!" I said.

"Mickey, loop-the-loop!" said Joey.

Another of those odd commands, inexplicable and strange, but the Rattata knew exactly how to respond. It ran after Hibiki and then ran a complete circle around her, jumping up and kicking with his back legs to knock her completely off balance. When she hit the dirt, Mickey hit her again, scoring thin lines down her side with his wicked claws. She cried out in pain and curled her tail around herself for protection, body quivering as Mickey backed off and paced around her, as if looking for an opening to appear.

My heart clenched tight, if hearts are capable of such a thing, and just then it certainly felt like they were. Before I could even think to think about it, I hefted her Poké Ball and recalled her, cradling Hibiki's Ball in my hands after she vanished into its unseen depths. Joey grinned.

"Told ya I wouldn't go easy," he said. "Now c'mon. I _know_ you've got another Pokémon or two to send out, dontcha?"

My teeth grit. "Hotaru," I muttered, and she trotted out from behind my feet without hesitation. The spots on her back had already flared hot red, the air above them rippling with visible waves of heat. If she'd been standing closer to my bio-leg and not my prosthetic, maybe I would've been burned.

Hotaru and I hadn't known one another for very long. But as gentle as she was, I sensed that that gentleness had its limits, and she was the type to head willingly into battle if it meant protecting her friends. Fear and pride alike warred inside my chest as I raised my hand and pointed at Mickey, whose curly tail waved and bobbed above his crouched back like a battle flag.

"Hotaru. Tackle him," I said through gritted teeth.

And so she did. She lunged forward toward Mickey and collided with him with a meaty thud—but before she even made contact, Joey had started to scowl.

Scowl at _me_ again, I feel I should mention.

What was up with this kid, anyway? Hotaru hadn't even hit the damn Rattata yet!

Not that it mattered. Joey's scowl stayed in place as Mickey picked himself up off the ground and shook the dirt from his fur. "Mickey, hit 'er with a slider," he commanded.

Mickey reacted instantaneously. He ran at Hotaru and then started to backpedal, dropping to his hip in the dirt to slide straight at her like a baseball player sliding into home plate. His claws gleamed despite the dust he'd kicked up, and Hotaru managed to evade them with a quick side-step. I lifted a hand, started to call out to her to tackle the Rattata and stop its slide in its tracks—

The spots on her back deepened to the color of a ruby, and to my surprise, a thin geyser of orange flame erupted from each one. From her mouth shot a small salvo of sparks, embers streaking through the air toward the Rattata like fireflies in a dark forest. They hit Mickey's side and sent him sprawling with a shriek; Joey reacted before he could even hit the ground, raising Mickey's Poké Ball and recalling him in nearly the same motion.

There followed a moment of silence, cut only by the hiss of the fire emanating from Hotaru's back.

"Fine," Joey said after a moment. He drew himself up, arms crossing over his chest. "You win, I guess."

His poor sportsmanship had me glaring at him. I harrumphed and went to collect Hotaru, who I held tight to my chest with both hands. "That'll teach you to take other trainers by surprise," I told him, and then I turned a smile on my Pokémon. "Nice job, Hotaru. When did you learn to spit fire, anyway?"

She peeped and head-butted my chin. I cooed and scratched her cheek. Joey cleared his throat.

"You're new at this, aren't you?" he said.

His question—one that sounded way more like a factual statement than a true inquiry—struck me momentarily silent. I gaped, only after a minute able to stammer a confused, "Excuse me?"

"I'm saying you must be really, really new to this," he said. "I mean, it's pretty obvious."

My glare returned, more intense this time. "Big words coming from the kid who just _lost_ to me."

But Joey merely laughed, head tossing so hard I feared he might lose his hat. "Oh, please. I didn't lose to you because you're a better trainer than me. I lost to you because you have stronger Pokémon than I do—and the fact that you're about to ask how those aren't the same thing proves my point."

My mouth shut with a clatter of teeth. I had, in fact, been about to ask him that precise question, but now I had no choice but to bite back my retort and swallow it. How had he known exactly what I was about to say, anyway? Could this, this twelve year old really divine so much about me after one battle?

"So tell me." Joey shifted his weight onto one foot, hip cocking out most cockily; he looked me up and down with clear derision, corner of his mouth hitching in a smirk. "Was this your first trainer battle, or what?"

My pride stung like it had been attacked by a swarm of bees. Beedrill. Whatever. "It's not my first battle, no," I snapped, trying and failing to sound cool—but when Joey looked utterly unconvinced, staring at me with eyes like a dead fish's, my shoulders sagged in defeat. "It's my second," I confessed with a grumble. "What of it?"

Joey grinned. "I knew it," he said. "And I'll bet you haven't watched too many battles, either, have you?"

Another correct assumption, darn this kid to heck and back. "My mom doesn't approve of television so we don't have one in the house," I said, but quickly so as not to belabor the point and give him more to make fun of. "How did you even guess all that?"

Joey scoffed. "What, it's not obvious?"

"Um. No. Enlighten me, please."

He scoffed some more. I wanted very much to punch him but I also didn't want to end up in Poké-jail, so I refrained. "Calling out attacks like you did? Rookie move," he said. "If you'd battled more than a few times, there's no way someone wouldn't have pointed that out to you by now."

I frowned. "But if you're not supposed to call out attacks, how are you…?" The truth hit me like a brick to the teeth. "Wait. Those weird things you kept saying," I said, replaying his weird-as-hell code words in my head. "Were those like… like a football play or something?"

Joey's brow knit. "What's football?"

Oh. Right. New world. All the sports were Pokémon-themed. Football no longer existed. Dammit. "Just a sport we play in my hometown," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask more questions. To that end I soldiered on, saying, "What I mean is a code. Those things you were saying are codes for certain types of attacks, right?"

That actually got him to smile; he tugged at his hat with a chuckle. "Heh. You catch on quick, I'll give you that. Looks like you're not totally hopeless, after all. And in that case…" He looked me up and down again, this time not even pausing when he glanced over my prosthetic. One hand shot into the air, a finger aimed in my direction as he grinned down the length of his short arm. "Well, lady, put on your walking shoes and follow me, because class is now in session!"

I stared at him and uttered a very eloquent, "Huh?"

Joey's hand dropped, but only so he could pound his fist into his other palm. "I'm going to give you a crash course on being an awesome trainer so you don't go and embarrass yourself again," he said. "Thank me later." And with that he trotted past, waving for me to follow in his wake. "Now c'mon, lady! We're wasting daylight and you've got a lot to learn!"

He didn't wait for me. He just jogged off, leaving me standing in the road with my mouth agape, Hotaru clutched to my chest like a little living heater. She gave a peep of confusion, but I could do nothing more than shake my head. This Joey kid was… odd. Not a bad dude, but definitely odd. First he'd insisted we battle, and now he wanted me to… what? Go to Youngster Joey's School for the Aspiring Pokémon Master?

A dozen yards away, Joey skidded to a halt. He turned and glared at me, hands resting on his hips. "You coming or not, lady?" he demanded. "Or do I gotta drag you back to town myself?"

"Oh, uh—coming!" I called back, and in spite of myself I started jogging after him.

It felt weird, following a kid like that, but at the same time, I got the sense that Joey, much the way he had charged headlong into battle, wasn't going to slow down until he'd done what he came to do—and in this moment, that was teach me every last thing he knew about Pokémon battles.

Something told me I still had quite a lot to learn, and that despite our age difference, Joey might have a thing or two to show me, after all.

* * *

 _NOTES_

 _I know this is short; I intended it to be longer, but there has been a death in the family and this is all I can manage. I wrote this last week and figured it could stand on its own, so rather than skip a week… here we are. Sorry I didn't include another scene._

 _Was happy to have a flashback to my old life, finally. We'll get more of them, all related to Pokemon, as the fic progresses._

 _Many thanks to everyone who commented last week. Would love to hear from more of you with your thoughts. You're the best: 431101134, Guest, frankieu, C S Stars, and birdyful yellow!_


	12. Chapter 12: Youngster Joey's House

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 12:

"Youngster Joey's House"

* * *

Putting down my fork, I took a deep breath and said, "Uh… thanks for having me, Mrs…?"

She was in the middle of serving Joey a heaping ladle of potato soup. He'd plowed through one bowl and hadn't even had to ask for a second helping before she stood and started to serve one up. Mid-pour she peered at me over the top of her glasses, lenses shaped like thin crescent moons of glimmering glass.

"It's Ms. Grey," she said with a kindly smile. When she finished spooning up Joey's soup, she straightened and gave a hearty laugh. "And don't worry about it, Hoshiko. Joey loves giving new trainers lessons, though you are the first he's brought home for dinner." She patted his shoulder, though he didn't appear to notice as he wolfed down his meal. "He'll make a great teacher one day, that's for sure."

That got his attention. Joey let his spoon fall to the rim of his bowl with a clatter, and he twisted in his seat to face her with a scowl. "Hey! Don't fence me in, you old lady." A thumb jerked toward his chest as he face split in a raucous grin. "I'm going to be a Pokémon master, no doubt about it!"

Ms. Grey rumpled his hair with a scowl that didn't touch the warmth in her eyes. "Old lady?" she repeated as Joey groused and tried to dodge her grip. "Is that any way to talk to your grandmother, I ask you?"

He fired back something about her going senile and she laughed, grey hair in its long braid gleaming silver in the light above their kitchen table. Joey lived in a modest two-story home near the edge of Cherrygrove City, a few streets away from the harbor judging by the salty sea scent carried to us on the wind as we trekked to his front door. His grandmother in her apron and fuzzy house slippers had hardly even given me a second glance when Joey declared I was to be his esteemed guest for dinner, setting an extra place at the table with little more than a good-natured chuckle and a merry grin.

She reminded me of my own grandmother—my old one, from my past life. I hadn't had a grandparent in this life. Apparently they were caught up in the War effort and met their deaths, but I didn't have many details about that. My mother didn't like to talk about it.

Soon I finished my bowl of delicious potato soup and plate of crusty bread, and Joey finished wolfing his portion down soon after. His grandmother waved and told us to have a good time as he led me upstairs to his bedroom, Hotaru trotting at our heels until we hit the stairs (I had to carry her up those; she wasn't good at stairs just yet). The door to it bore the letters J. M. painted on a wooden plaque; I eyed them, noting that his final initial didn't match his grandmother's. She maybe she was his maternal grandmother, and his last name (whatever it was; I hadn't bothered to ask) he'd inherited from his fath—

"She's not really my grandmother, y'know."

I jolted and turned. Joey stood in the middle of his bedroom with hands on hips, staring at me through wide, dark eyes unobscured by his usual ball cap. He'd left it on a peg by the door downstairs, automatically taking it off as soon as we crossed the threshold.

"The old lady," he said, to clarify. "My mom was married to her son, but he died in the War. And then my mom's parents died in the War, and they were both alone, so they just decided to stick together." He heaved a shrug. "And them Mom got married again and had me, and here I am." A beat. "Mom and Dad are on a trip for their anniversary, by the way. So it's just me and my Nana right now."

Turns out Joey was a bit of an overshare-er; I hadn't been expecting that little explanation at all, but there it was, blatant and personal and plain as the nose on my face. Putting down Hotaru, I tried not to look as awkward as I felt. "I see," was all I said, and then I gestured. "Your room's cool, by the way."

Well. It was 'cool' if you really liked Pokémon, and specifically Rattata, at that. The walls were royal purple, the color of Rattata fur, and his bedspread and curtains both sported a garish pattern of Poké Balls in the regular, Great, and Ultra varieties. The lamp on his desk had a ring of prancing Rattata silhouettes on the shade, which cast odd shadows about the room when he flipped the switch on its power cord.

"Thanks," Joey said with a proud grin at the official Pokémon League and Rattata posters on the walls. "I know."

Hotaru had hopped over to his bed to sniff at the edge of the comforter. Joey reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ball, out of which he released the Rattata we'd fought before. I wasn't sure when he'd had time to heal the creature, but it look well enough as it looked around the room and spotted Hotaru. His eyes narrowed and his nose twitched above his buck teeth, but after glancing at Joey and seeing the encouraging smile on his trainer's face, the Rattata bounced over to Hotaru and sniffed gamely at her snout. She sniffed back, gave a little 'peep' of welcome, and soon the two of them were gamboling around the room together in spirited play.

"And your Rattata sure is cute," I said.

But Joey only bristled. "Mickey is _not_ cute; he's majestic and fierce!" he snapped.

Mickey the Rattata stopped playing and stilled, looking over at Joey with a huge, watery eyes and a trembling mouth. Joey's bluster vanished, his hands coming up as he stammered an apology.

"Oh Mickey, I didn't mean to stay you're _not_ adorable. You are," Joey said. "But you're also majestic and fierce and that's important, too!"

Mickey's eyes returned to their normal proportions; he trotted over to Joey and accepted a pat on the head, face screwed up in happiness as he received a good scratch behind the ears. Joey's face softened, a look of obvious love suffusing his disproportionate preteen features from within.

"A lot of people underestimate Rattata as a species," Joey said as he continued scratching, "but my Rattata is special. He's of the top percentage of all Rattatas, even!" Joey flashed a grin. "I don't need any other Pokémon with Mickey at my side. We've beaten Pokémon of evolutionary lines people usually say are better or whatever, too." But then his grin vanished, an expression of odd sadness I didn't understand crossing his face, instead. Tearing his eyes from his Pokémon, Joey addressed me directly. "Don't underestimate any of your Pokémon, is what I'm saying," he said. "You have a rare starter, but as you travel and make friends, never think you've caught a dud. Value them all and treasure them when they're with you. You get me, Hoshiko?"

I wasn't sure why he'd given me that lecture, but his sincerity booked no argument. "Roger that," was all I said, nodding with every word. "I will. I promise."

He seemed satisfied by that. "Good," he said, and he straightened up and gestured for Mickey to go back to playing. "But enough about that! Sit your butt down and let's get started." He waited until I dutifully sat on chair beside his desk to begin. "You caught on that I was calling out codes to my Pokémon, I'll give you that. But do you know _why_ I was calling out codes?"

"I thought about it on the walk over," I said, because I had, and because that had been the biggest thing on my mind ever since our battle on Route 30. "My best guess is that if I just tell Hotaru to tackle, that telegraphs our big plan to the opponent and their Pokémon, which gives them the ability to counter the move. Is that it?"

Joey chuckled and swiped his thumb under his nose, smile satisfied. "You won't be a rookie for long at this rate," he muttered. "That's exactly it. And of course the reason you don't want to telegraph your moves is because if your Pokémon outmatched in terms of type or evolution, you can still preserve a tactical edge by keeping your strategy secret." He spread his hands in a 'what can you do' kind of gesture. "Pretty much everyone these days develops codes with their Pokémon team. It started with Danica Henley, of course, but—"

I frowned. "Danica who?"

"Danica—" Joey did a double take. "Wait. You mean to tell me you don't know who Danica Henley is?!"

"I'm a rookie!" I shot back, defensive under his disbelieving stare. "What can I say?"

"B-but she's famous!" Joey sputtered, still as incredulous as hell. He threw up his hands to say, "She's probably one of the most famous Pokémon trainers who ever—and I figured _you_ of all people—!"

I frowned again, deeper this time. "Me, of all people? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I figured you'd love her, all things considered," he retorted.

"Um. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?!" he said, and this time his voice climbed so high that it cracked like a tree in a gale. He coughed into his fist a few times before rubbing at his forehead with a sigh, like my ignorance had triggered a migraine or something. "Oh, jeez, I guess I have to start from the beginning, don't I?" he muttered. Taking a deep breath he raised a finger into the air and proceeded to rapidly begin a lecture I'm sure he must've learned in grade school (a level of schooling I'd missed, given my unorthodox entry into the world of Pokémon). Joey told me, "The League was established after the War ended as a peace effort. The mission of the Pokémon League is, and was, to send responsible kids around various regions to collect Badges. Thus, young people would travelling, learn to respect other cultures, and promote the healing of the nations after the horrors of war—and all that other crud and whatnot."

That last bit was clearly his addition to school curriculum and not part of any teacher's lesson plan, I was sure, but even so I managed to nod in affirmation. I knew about most of what he said already, mostly from books I'd read when I initially arrived in this world and tried to familiarize myself with my new reality. I'd had trouble finding some basic information everyone was assumed to know, hover. Asking for really low-level and basic books at my age looked suspicious. Still, I'd learned a lot of details through observing and listening and through absorbing context clues, but this was the single most completed explanation I'd ever heard in one place. Thus, Joey's rant was actually sort of fascinating, even if he looked bored to tears whilst delivering it himself.

"All right, at least you know _something_ ," he said. His lecturing tone dropped as he began to use his own wording, and not what he'd been taught rote in school. "Well, the concept was going fine at first, but the Elite Four and the chosen League Champion were all super tough—because they were all veterans of the Great War, right? _Way_ tougher than a bunch of roving kids, that's for sure." That alone sounded absolutely fascinating, but Joey gave me no time to press for details. He said, "Not many people were able to even reach them, let alone beat them, and after a year or two, people started to get mad. They started saying the League was rigged, that nobody could win it and actually honor the country they came from, that Johto was hogging all the glory—" His expression changed, excitement making his eyes appear to glow. "—and then _she_ showed up."

He opened his mouth to rant again.

My hand shot into the air before he could start. "Question!"

Joey's jaw dropped. "But I'm not done!"

"You can pause, can't you?" I said, and I didn't wait for him to answer than rhetorical question before forging on ahead. "Was there just one League at first? One for every region You said bringing glory to their country and that Johto was hogging it, so—"

Joey did another of his impressive double takes. "Are you an idiot?! _Of course_ there was just one League at first!" he said, squeaking like the Rattata he loved. "It began over in Johto since they came up with the idea, and then eventually the concept spread to other regions once they proved it could kick-start immigration. How do you not know all this already?!"

I ignored the insult in order to rub my chin, staring at the floor in thought. "Interesting," I murmured to myself. "So the Johto League was like the pilot program."

"Kinda? But back to Danica Henley!" Joey said. Once more than excited glint returned to his expression, the kid's expression gleaming with pride and eagerness. "The nations had all been sending their kids to Johto, vying for the top spot and whatnot, and nobody was able to beat the Champ or even the Elite Four. They were about to cancel the whole experiment entirely when _she_ appeared, and she managed to take down the Four and the Champ like it was _nothing_."

The feat certainly sounded impressive. "How old was she?"

"Seventeen. Originally the official age to start a Journey was fifteen, but they lowered it when the League got popular and people got used to watching out for young trainers." Suddenly he looked wistful, staring at his poster with the League logo on it with what appeared to be longing. "Back then, Pokémon battles weren't as popular as they are today. The War hadn't been over for very long and people didn't like the reminder of the violence, but Danica? She made battling an _art_. She never maimed anyone's Pokémon, her own Pokémon were tough and smart and never vicious, and I'm not kidding when I say she changed the way people look at battling today." He sighed, dreamy and yearning and pining all at once. "Yeah, Danica Henley was _amazing_. No one saw her coming at all. She sure showed everyone what she could do, no apologies, and her fights today are the stuff of legend."

"I mean… great for her, I guess." Joey seemed utterly in awe of this Danica chick, and sure, her accomplishment of being the first League Champion was cool and whatnot, but something about Joey's final sentence struck me as odd. I asked, "But why didn't they see it coming?"

Joey told me, "Cuz she's deaf."

He didn't say it like an "ah-ha" or a "gotcha" or anything. He didn't look sad or pitying when he said it, either. He just… said it. Like he'd mentioned nothing more important than her hair color or height, utterance as casual as a remark about the weather or the price of leeks at the grocery store.

He kept speaking without pause, barely giving me time at all to make the above observations. "She didn't need to hear to kick the asses—" here he actually _did_ pause, glancing at the door with a wince before lowering his voice to a whisper "—I mean, to kick the _butts_ of everybody who tried to challenge her. Apparently her parents didn't think she should go on a Journey, since the concept was still new and they thought she couldn't handle it, but she made it all the way to the League and then she _tore it to pieces_ with her codes and secret strategies." He held up his hands and formed a few symbols I could only assume were the Pokémon world's version of ASL. "She used sign language and all kinds of stuff to communicate in secret with her Pokémon—and to this day, we still don't have translations for a lot of her codes. She changed the entire landscape of the Pokémon battle world with her victory and now _everybody_ makes codes, just like she did, because no one could keep up with her!"

Now I finally understood why Joey so revered this person, besides the obvious reason of being the first ever Champion. "She sounds like a badass," I said, and when Joey nodded like a rambunctious bobblehead in agreement, what he'd said earlier repeated in my head. I stared at him with a frown and asked, "Wait. Did you think I'd be her fangirl because of my _leg?"_

"Well, yeah!" he said. "Of course I did!"

Yup. Everything was clicking now—his disbelief at my lack of knowledge, his assumption that he thought I'd love her, all that jazz. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed, unable to keep from giving Joey a lecture of my own; a big chunk of my family in my past life had been Deaf or Hard of Hearing, and if I didn't stand up for them right now, they'd be sorely disappointed.

"Being Deaf and missing a leg are really, really not the same thing, I feel I gotta say," I told him. "The Deaf community has this culture and history that I'm not part of, and even though disability has some crossover in the way able-bodied society treats us, you can't totally compare a deaf or Deaf person to somebody with a—"

But Joey just rolled his eyes. "Well of _course_ they're not the same thing, ya dingus! I know that already; duh! But Danica is still the one who proved you should never underestimate any wannabe trainers no matter who they are or what they look like, so there's at least a _little_ bit of similarity, right?" He paused, gathering his thoughts before saying, "I mean, after the War there were a lot of people with physical disabilities trying to be professional trainers, so she wasn't exactly unique even if she was deaf instead of an amputee, and not too many people made a fuss over her hearing aside from some real jerks—jerks she put in their places _in a snap_ , mind ya—but that's not the point! She's just…!"

Joey stopped talking. He searched for words. I waited patiently as his agitated demeanor calmed, his eyes growing wistful and dreamy again before he sighed.

"Cool," he at last decided (with yet another sigh of admiration). "Yeah.. She's just really, really _cool_. And mysterious, which makes her even cooler."

"Mysterious?" My brow lifted. "Mysterious how?"

He looked crestfallen at the question, though he tried to hide it. He walked to his bed and smoothed the comforter—an action I couldn't imagine a rough-and-tumble preteen boy like Joey doing unless he was trying to buy time. Eventually he looked back at me and said, "Danika disappeared from the public eye a little while after her big win. No one's really sure why." He grinned, sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "But even now, fifteen years later, she's my hero. I figured maybe she inspired you, too…" He paused. Thought about it, eyes screwed up in concentration. "But wait. If you didn't know about codes, then you wouldn't know about her, and that means she couldn't have been your inspiration…"

So he wasn't a total savant, after all, to miss that trail of logic. Made me feel a little better, oddly. I gave him a kind smile, suppressing a chuckle at his puzzled frown. "I'm a rookie in all senses, basically. But Danica sounds awesome." My face screwed up, then, in my own moment of centration. "Is that why you were sure to say you wouldn't go easy on me before we battled? Because of her?"

"Yup!" he said, beaming. "She's Deaf and you've got a prosthetic, and those aren't the same thing, but the both of you should get the same respect any trainer gets no matter what, right?" He answered his own question with a determined nod. "Yeah. It's what Danica would've wanted."

I couldn't help but grin. He was a sweet kid, Joey. Full of good intentions, even if he didn't quite have the vocabulary to voice them just yet. "I can get behind that," I said, because it felt like the best thing to say, and because my throat had gotten a little thick at the joyful glitter in his eyes.

"Thought you might," he said. He slapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth, different enthusiasm lighting his expression. "Now, about codes. You should start by determining how you want to communicate with your Pokémon. Speech, hand signals—heck, I've even seen people wave colored flags…"

To see Joey go on a tear is an impressive sight, because he talks a mile a minute without slowing down for anything—and yet he somehow found time to answer my questions, or predict which question I entertained based on the looks on my face, and he managed to cut my confusion off at the pass many times while we discussed battle etiquette, Gym rules, trainer interaction, and the all-important battle codes created by his hero and idol, the mysterious and powerful Danica Henley. I listened with attention so rapt I didn't notice as darkness completely fell on the other side of the crystalline window, only glancing at my PokéGear's clock when I heard Hotaru start snoring like a crackling fire in the corner. She and Mickey lay in a little dog-pile, snoozing and cuddled up tight.

"Oh, shoot," I said with a forlorn glance at the window. "I was hoping to make it to Azalea today."

"Yeah, not happening," came Joey's blunt reply. "Definitely not a good idea to walk there at night. Nocturnal Pokémon are scrappier than the ones who come out during the day." He glanced at the door, thought a minute, then padded over and opened it. "I have an idea. Nana?"

His call echoed down the staircase, but before it faded completely, his grandmother called her answer. "Yes, dear?"

"Can Hoshiko sleep on the couch tonight? She can't really go anywhere this late."

I stood up on reflex, holding up my hands in protest. "Oh, Joey, it's OK—I can go stay at the Pokémon Center, it's—"

Feet sounded on the stairs; Ms. Grey appeared with hands on her thin hips. "Oh, don't be silly, dear!" she said with a scolding tut. "You can't go anywhere this late, that's for certain, and they might have even closed the city gates. They do that sometimes, y'know." She gestured for me to follow her into the hall, smile broad and welcoming. "Come get ready for bed, dear, we insist. It's my generation's duty to help young trainers, after all."

"Yeah!" Joey said. "Let the old lady have her fun!"

She shot him a sharp look, though one without any real bite, and Joey laughed. Before I could try to protest again, Ms. Grey shook her head and walked into the room, slipping her hand around mine to tug me gently into the hall and down the stairs.

* * *

When I woke, I wasn't sure where I was.

Moonlight, thin as a sickle and just as silver, trickled through the window above the couch like a leaking faucet. I sat up with a gasp and looked around, heart beating a wild rhythm inside my chest at the feel of the unfamiliar bed, the odd photos on the walls—because this was not the first time I had woken up in an unfamiliar bed, in another place entirely, with odd photos on the walls and my friends and family nowhere in sight and _where was I oh god oh god had it happened again, had it happened—?_

I lurched upright. Ran my hands from the tops of my thighs and downward, clutching at them through the covers.

My right hand travelled down to an ankle, whole and hale.

My right hand dropped off into nothing just below the knee.

Panic and confusion bubbled in my neck—but then the little ball of fluff at my side peeped sleepily and stirred, her warmth burning against my hip like a living heater.

I remembered where I was, then.

Where, and also _who._

Hotaru and I had sunk deep into Ms. Grey's plush couch, embedded in its softness like stickerburs in fur. My prosthetic gleamed where it leaned against the end of the couch, the flowers and flame on its socket obscured by the shadows. I lay there for a minute in the dim, looking at it and remembering who I was, my hand wandering over Hotaru's soft back as I tried to get my breathing under control, bit by bit calming until my heart ceased to race and my pores stopped leaking the cold sweat of utter panic. My throat felt dry, cracked. Like I hadn't had anything to drink in years and had crossed a vast desert in the dark of my dreams.

Water. I needed water.

Carefully, trying not to disturb Hotaru, I swung my legs over the side of the couch and grabbed the crutches on the floor. They weren't comfortable to use since they were the collapsible travel kind, made of lightweight metal with not much padding on the stirrups, function favored over all else, but they got the job done as I hauled my body atop them and swung my way into the kitchen off the living room. Took me a bit to find a glass (and took me no small effort not to simply drink out of the faucet directly) but soon I found one, and I filled it, and I drank. My throat came to life again, soothed and cool.

I couldn't help but wonder, as I stood there with the glass held against my fevered neck, how often I'd wind up sleeping at a stranger's house. How often I'd wake in a panic, unsure of where (or who) I was. How often I'd have to endure that horrible moment of unknowing, frantically grasping at details to piece together the truth of my existence.

Moments like that had come often when I initially came to this world. They'd come nightly, in fact, only tapering off to the occasional moment of panic as I grew accustomed to the sight of Hoshiko's bedroom. But now I had to sleep somewhere unfamiliar, and do it every night, never in a room of my own…

What had Ms. Grey said? That it was her duty to help young trainers?

She was just like that Apricorn farmer. That farmer who had given me a gift for no reason other than I was a young trainer on a Journey.

This was a strange world. A strange, odd world full of strange, odd people. How many of my elders would give me gifts, freely granted, and greet me with warmth and care? How many would give me food and supplies for no reason at all, simply because they could? How many grandmothers with War-slain children would offer me an unfamiliar place to sleep in the days and weeks to come, unwittingly prompting with their kindness a panic attack in the middle of the night—?

Something scuttled beyond the doorway. I turned around, crutches clacking, but it was Ms. Grey and not Hotaru, as I had expected, who came through the kitchen door. She jumped when she saw me, hand over her heart, but then she relaxed with a smile.

"I thought I heard someone in here," she said. "Can't sleep?"

I lifted my glass. "Needed a drink."

"Of course." Her eyes traveled the length of my crutches, politely skirting my leg; she didn't ask the question I saw brewing in her gaze, the one about whether or not I slept in my prosthetic. Instead she just shook her head. "Well, I won't keep you. Just let me know if you need anything, won't you dear?"

"I will. Thank you."

But my thanks brought her trouble, if her frown was any indication. "No. Thank _you_ ," she said. She shot a furtive look over her shoulder, voice dropping to a hush as she shuffled toward me. "I was going to tell you tomorrow, but now is probably better. Thank you for what you did for Joey tonight."

I swallowed. "But I didn't do anything, ma'am. In fact, he's the one who—"

She had already begun shaking her head. "No. You did more than you know." A bitter look crossed her face, pain obvious in the taut lines of her wrinkled mouth. "Yesterday was a hard day for my grandson. One of his friends lost their beloved Pokémon in a battle gone wrong."

"That Rattata."

The words slipped out unbidden; I resisted the urge to clap a hand over my mouth. However, Ms. Grey wasn't perturbed. Instead she shuffled closer, house slippers whispering over the linoleum floor, and clutched the neck of her fluffy robe with one bony hand.

"Did he tell you about…?" she murmured.

I shook my head. "No." And then I had to swallow again, a lump gathering in my neck. "I was there."

Pain flashed across her face once more. "I am sorry you saw something so horrible." She gave a shudder, robe in a death grip. "I'm only glad Joey wasn't present. He'd gotten lost in the woods, training, but…"

Here she paused. Took a deep, shaking breath.

Said: "He helped his friend bury that Pokémon."

"Oh my _god_ ," was all I could think to say.

Good thing it was enough. "Yes," said Ms. Grey, with a solemn nod and a weary sigh. "And since his own companion is a Rattata, as well…" Her implication was obvious, and she did not elaborate. Instead she told me, voice low and trembling, "I said before that he often gives lessons to young newbies, but you are indeed the first he brought home for dinner. I thought, perhaps, the incident would make him less outgoing, more cautious. I think instead it has given him purpose."

"Purpose?" I asked.

She nodded, the barest hint of hope creeping into her gaze. "I think he might try to educate other trainers so that their Pokémon will be safe. But I might be overthinking it. Such is the habit of the grandmother, you know." She sighed again, this time with a laugh that held little humor. "At any rate, enough of this old woman's rambling. Thank you for giving him a distraction tonight." A long pause. "He puts on a brave face, but—well. I think he needed that distraction, if I'm being honest."

"Well." I had no idea what to say, obviously, but I did the best I could. With all the sincerity I could muster, I told her: "He's a nice young man, and a great teacher. I was happy to spend time with him."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, and she squeezed my arm with the specific and gentle affection of a grandmother before shuffling out of the kitchen again.

I tried to pretend I hadn't seen the liquid gleam in her eyes, tears caught on a shaft of moonlight streaming in the kitchen window—but at that, I failed. The memory of those unshed tears I carried with me as I curled myself around Hotaru and tried, in vain, to sleep.

* * *

They fed Hotaru and me a king's breakfast the next morning. Joey looked half asleep, eyes squeezed nearly shut as his fork blundered blearily around his plate (barely spearing any food, I might add)—but he perked up when I set my plate in the sink and announced it was time I moved on.

Well, "perk" isn't the word. More like he sharpened, eyes snapping wide as his mouth turned down in a pouting scowl.

If he was upset to see me go, however, he didn't lash out at me. Kid had some emotional awareness, which was nice. He accompanied me, Hotaru, and Ms. Grey to the door, where he stood with hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and watched as his grandmother told me how to find the city's north gate from their home. As she drilled me about the route, he lifted a foot and traced the pattern of the grain in the wood floor with his toe, staring at it with expression glum.

"I can't wait till I'm older, like you, and I get to go on a Journey of my own with Mickey," he muttered when his grandmother fell quiet (and ah-ha! So _that_ was why he looked glum—he had an Ethan-like attitude about a delayed journey, it seemed). Before I could tell him that his day would come and to just be patient, a speech I'd given Ethan a thousand times, he looked at me from under his brows. A hectic flush spread across his freckled face. "Say," he said, voice cracking just a little. "Do you think you might—?"

I grinned, because I was already pulling out my PokéGear. "For sure." His blush deepened; my grin did, too. "Something tells me I'll need your advice sooner rather than later, anyway. Right, Joey?"

He mumbled something about how yeah, I was a rookie and would need all the help I could get from him, that was for sure, and we exchanged numbers as his face took on the color of a ripe apple. Ms. Grey watched the exchange with a giggle; Joey shot her a dirty look, and then he bid me an abrupt goodbye before stomping back indoors with a mutter of, "Oh shut up, ya old biddy!"

"Boys," Ms. Grey and I said as one, and then we shared a good giggle together. When our laughter died, she kissed my cheek and pressed a packet of sandwiches into my hands. "You be sure to keep up your strength, Hoshiko. And please come back and visit when you can."

"I will," I promised—and with that, it was off to Azalea Town, Hotaru hopping gamely at my side.

Part of me wondered if exchanging numbers with Joey had been a good idea, of course. I vaguely remembered that the version of Joey who populated the games was kind of annoying, calling all the time to talk about his top percentage Rattata—but like so many things about this world, the games seemed to have gotten Joey wrong, too.

There was more to Joey (and to the vast, intricate world he called his home) than met the eye—and in spite of the trauma, the warnings, the dark parts lurking just out of sight, I was on my way to explore it for myself.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Fleshing out Joey and making him a useful touchstone was so much fun. Also, a lot of what they talked about in Joey's Poké-Lessons I left off-screen. I'll likely flash back to the conversation or just have her call him later to get details about the world he revealed during that conversation. I dumped a lot of details in this chapter and felt that dumping even more would be overwhelming. Joey, therefore, will be a great tool I can use to dispense relevant info when it becomes necessary, and I'm excited that he and Hoshiko are going to remain in touch and friends._

 _I created Danica Henley, the first ever League Champion; she is an OC and not a character from any Pokémon property that I know of. She's not going to be a huge player in the story (though I am planning for her to appear at some point and for her presence to be felt a lot). I wanted her to have left her mark on the entire world of Pokémon in a cool way. She can battle better than you BECAUSE of her Deafness, not in spite of it. Many of my family members are Deaf/deaf and this is basically an homage to them. One of my Deaf cousins taught his football team how to sign, and thanks to that the QB could communicate from across the field with receivers and linemen. They kicked ass and took names in no small part because of his influence. He inspired Danica in a big way, as you might imagine—so here's my tribute to him, I guess!_

 _Also. "Deaf" with a capital D refers to a person who is culturally Deaf (someone who signs, who lives in a Deaf community, etc.). Little-d "deaf" refers to someone whose ears do not hear, AKA the physical condition of deafness. Wanted to clear that up since the various capital contrivances were used above and will be used again in future. They differences in capitalization aren't just inconsistencies or typos, is what I'm saying, but rather specific ways to refer to specific things._

 _Many thanks to everyone who chimed in with a review last week. You each made my day. Hope you liked this chapter! Frankieu, Teacup Galaxy, 431101134, C S Stars, Goldey, Gelasia Kidd, birdyful yellow, and Ravyn Moon 1313!_


	13. Chapter 13: Route 31 & Route 36

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 13:

"Route 31; Route 36"

* * *

The Kakuna we'd caught the day before listened to what I had to say in silence. Then, without emoting even the slightest bit, he flopped onto his belly and inch-wormed his way over to my leg, where he clung to the metal shaft of my prosthetic as a cocoon clings to a leaf.

"Uh," I said as I stared down at the silent Pokémon. "So… is that a yes?"

He issued a dry-leaf laugh at the sound of my confusion, and at that Hibiki gave me a curt nod. Yes, the Kakuna had said "yes" to my offer of training, and thus I had to give him a name. I picked "Yoroi." It meant "armor," and since he was basically nothing but, the name felt fitting indeed.

Once I'd ascertained my new Pokémon's consent to captivity (as much as I was able), it was time to make the trek to Violet City—but even though I knew the way, I felt no surety in my steps as we walked away from Joey's house that morning. Instead I felt a sense of deep-seated dread settle heavy in my chest, emotion intensifying with every step we took along Route 30.

So much had happened to us on Route 30 over the past few days. The Route was full of memories now, both good and bad and many falling starkly in between. I tried to focus on the good as we passed the orchard of Apricorn trees (no sign of their tender, this time) and where we'd met both Joey and Yoroi, but as we reached the spot where we'd seen the Rattata die, I couldn't help but hold my breath. I also couldn't help but wonder if we should walk straight past it and not acknowledge the spot at all, but as I decided to do just that and walk right on through that stretch of road without pause, Hotaru's adorable bunny-hops slowed. She stopped walking, hunched upon the ground as she stared forward toward the place where the Rattata had died, pert nose twitching as she scented the brisk morning air.

I took a deep breath. "You OK?"

For a moment, Hotaru did not respond.

But then she gave a brave 'peep,' shot me her version of a smile, and trotted forward once again.

Relief made the rest of Route 30 pass in little more than a flash, and soon we found ourselves standing beside a wooden post with arrow-shaped plaques affixed to its length. One of them pointed east, toward Mt. Coronet rising high and grey against the pale sky, and the other west toward Route 31. Route 31 comprised swatches of hilly and forested terrain, and when Hotaru and I crested a small hill on our way to it, I spotted the gleaming waters of a distant lake, its bulk partially obscured by more trees and rising hills. A few stray Apricorn trees dotted the landscape, stunted and twisting due to lack of proper care.

Beyond even them, just to the north of us, a dozen pillars of smoke rose to meet the light blue sky—Violet City, hidden behind the forest of Route 31.

I nodded at the smoke and hefted my backpack higher. "Looks like we head that-a-way, huh?"

Beside me, Hotaru chirped.

The path we'd been following didn't take us north toward the lake or the smoke trails of Violet, however. Instead it cut south through the woods, dipping below the rise of a high bluff, the cliffs of which I wouldn't be able to climb from this direction. Most people likely traversed it with the help of Pokémon, if I had to guess, or just circumnavigated with the use of Fly. As we approached the woods, feet scuffing along the thin and winding path, I heard the telltale cry of a Pidgey in the trees, bushes quivering as Pokémon darted unseen beneath them. I didn't much want to walk through these woods (they were darker even than the woods beyond New Bark Town) but it wasn't like I had much choice. It was either walk through them to reach Violet City, or turn back around completely—and my mom would scold my ear off if I did that. No, thanks.

As we entered the woods, watery sunlight giving way to the chill of shadow, I couldn't help but scoff to myself at the absurdity of it all. The roads I'd walked down were little more than wheel ruts carved into the earth, sections only intermittently paved and only when in close proximity to towns. What a laugh, right? You needed a vehicle with all-terrain capability (or a Pokémon mount) to successfully travel from town to town; I'd been shocked when Mom had to rent one to drive us out to New Bark, taken aback at the lack of infrastructure this world boasted. But as Malkin had once explained, the Government had dedicated so much money to Centers, Gyms and research, they didn't have much left over to finance road construction.

"But I guess that's what you get when there's a culture-wide overreliance on Pokémon for every damn task under the sun," I muttered to myself as we carefully picked our way over the path through the forest. Route 31 was barely even wheel ruts, all roots and dead twigs and even (in some spots) obscured from view by fallen leaves. Navigating over a particularly rough patch, I said with perhaps more sarcasm than was necessary, "Who needs a ferry if you can Surf? Who needs roads if you can use Fly?"

Hotaru, who was having a grand time dive-bombing into leaf piles, looked up at me with a frown. "Peep?"

"Oh, don't mind me." A bitter smile. "Just bitching about plot holes, that's all."

Hotaru looked more than a little confused by that statement, but soon she spotted another leaf pile and her let confusion lie forgotten in a shower of disturbed foliage.

I was quite glad for Hotaru's presence as we continued on our way. When I nearly tripped over a root, cursing as my prosthetic wiggled around my leg, she flared the spots on her back in a burst of low heat. Red light (eerie but steady, not to mention bright) cast odd shadows over the dark of the trees, but I was grateful to have a little more light to see by. I had to walk carefully; didn't want to trip on a root and rip off my prosthetic, which would be easy to do in this terrain.

Despite my earlier disdain for the move, I found myself wishing Hotaru was a flying type. What I wouldn't give for Fly just then…

"Say," I said, mostly to drown out the rather creepy cawing of a bird-type Pokémon somewhere in the distance; the trees distorted sound, making the echoes hard to pinpoint. "Maybe we'll catch a Hoot-Hoot or a Pidgey in here. Their evolutions can use Fly, I think…"

"Peep," said Hotaru.

"That would be good in general, actually." I hopped over a fallen log with a grunt. "A flying type is good against bugs and fighting, and—"

"First Encounter Mandate sequence initiated. Please enter recording mode," my Dex interjected from the depths of my coat pocket. "Please enter recording mode."

My heart tried to jump out of my mouth, but I clamped my teeth shut tight. "You just love interrupting me, don't you?" I said as I scrambled for the bag of Balls on my belt. I had only just gotten a Ball free when the Dex told me to enter recording mode again, voice a little more insistent this time. "OK, OK, hold on," I grumbled as I reached into my coat "Just let me get you out, and—"

The bushes ahead of me rustled, and before I could get my Dex out of my coat, a Bellsprout leapt from the undergrowth.

I barely had time to register what the creature was (it was all head, enormous and yellow like a squash supported by a thin tangle of vines and leaves beneath) before its face swung in my direction. Beady black eyes landed on me, moved away, and then did double-take I'm sure I would've found funny had it not begun to sprint in my direction directly afterward. Looking at the creature honestly made me feel a little sick, because to run it had to churn all the vines below its head like a rolling tumbleweed, movements unnatural and strange since normally _plants don't fucking move_ or whatever—

With a brave little peep, Hotaru leapt in front of me.

The Bellsprout ran straight over her, my Pokémon disappearing beneath a mass of roiling leaves and vines in an instant.

"Hotaru!" I cried, but the Bellsprout gave no pause and kept coming. I stumbled back, tripped over a root, and fell on my ass, crying out in shock and fear as my arm reflexively lashed out to shoo the charging creature away. But something glimmered, and something slipped free of my hand, and a shiny object arched through the air away from me.

In my panic, I'd forgotten that I'd been holding a Poké Ball.

My throw went wide, of course. I hadn't been aiming at the Bellsprout properly. The Ball sailed to the creature's left a few degrees, a clean miss if I'd ever seen one, and in an instant I cycled through a few different emotions: concern for Hotaru, regret that I'd likely lose the Ball without using it, and anxiety that the Bellsprout was going to run straight over me the way it had run over Hotaru. Were these things poisonous? Was it trying to hurt me? What was—?

That's when something curious happened.

As I threw the Ball, the Bellsprout changed course. It veered to the left, hunkered down, and leapt off the ground—straight into the path of the oncoming Poké Ball. The Ball bounced off its head and made an electric chime as it opened, sucking the Bellsprout inside its shell with a burst of red light.

When the Ball fell to the ground, it did not shake.

It just sat there for a moment, and then it pinged, signaling the Pokémon had been caught.

I stared at it.

Hotaru (who had been lying on her back with stumpy legs pointed skyward) rolled onto her belly with a twist of her neck, like a tumbled hedgehog righting itself.

I stared at the Ball some more.

Then, eventually, I said: "What in the ever-lovin' fu—?"

The trees ahead of me began to rustle. I shut up fast, but it was no use. As if summoned by my budding expletive, three Pidgey burst from the foliage above, their raucous caws piercing the forest's silence like needles through thin fabric. I gave little scream as they exploded into the air above the path, their wings flapping and shedding feathers as they swooped and soared down the length of the road, beady eyes scanning it, combing it, looking for—

Oh, shit. So _that's_ what was up, eh?

I rolled forward onto my knees and crawled to the Bellsprout's Ball. Snatching it up, I glared and snarled, "Did you just use me to _escape_ , you little—?"

No time to finish asking, let alone get an answer. Once more summoned by the sound of my voice, the Pidgey veered as one in my direction, wind slicing off their wings and drying my eyes in an instant. Hotaru dodged beneath them and came to my side with a cry; I put my hand on her back and waved my other arm through the air, but the Pidgey were immune to my flailing ("It wasn't very effective," you might say) and descended with claws extended.

"Hotaru!" I said. "Use your smoke screen!"

"Peep!" she said, and from her nose billowed a fountain of white fog. The scent of cinnamon and smoke filled the air, the Pidgeys' aggravated cries turning to ones of confusion, and when the smoke covered us entirely I scooped Hotaru up and dashed off down the path at a shuffling, half-hopping run—hoping like heck the whole way that nothing would catch on my prosthetic foot, and that I wouldn't go crashing to the ground.

Luckily, that didn't happen. I ran from the heart of the smoke and into clear air, and then I ran some more, pelting down the dark forest path until I saw daylight up ahead and the Pidgeys' cries faded into the distance. At that I put on a burst of careful speed, running from the forest and into a field at the edge of a large lake. Sunlight glanced off the water and dazzled my eyes after so long spent in the dark woods, but I just squinted as I cast about for a spot to rest. Not far away I spotted a small Apricorn tree; limping over, I flopped onto the ground beneath it, legs and arms spread as I swallowed a few deep, ragged breaths. Hotaru collapsed next to me, too, all but disappearing into the tall, soft grass that covered the field like a thick carpet.

We lay there in silence for a time, eyes locked on the path where it disappeared into the woods—but when no angry Pidgey flew after us, we relaxed. Hotaru wriggled happily in the grass and sunshine, peeps of contentment bubbling in her throat when I gave her back a good scratching.

"What do you suppose THAT was about?" I said when I recovered enough to talk. I held up the Bellsprout's Ball. "This little guy leapt straight into the Ball, and…" I paused; gender was tough to suss out on a sentient pile of leaves, after all. In the end I settled on: "He, she, _they_ were clearly trying to escape those Pidgey. Right?"

Hotaru peeped.

I stared at the Ball a moment longer, brain replaying the scene in the woods. "Maybe… maybe weaker Pokémon really _do_ want to be caught, sometimes," I eventually murmured. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out in the wild." A pause. "Well. A Pokémon-eat-Pokémon world, I guess. But you get what I mean."

It was hard to deny that the Bellsprout had entered the Ball intentionally, and its motives weren't difficult to parse out. Perhaps the Pidgey had been after it, and when it saw me, it acted fast to get away to somewhere safe. Even wild Pokémon had to know that with allying with a trainer came some degree of safety, at least from random predation by other wild Pokémon and from the whim of the elements at large.

Still. Even if it had entered the Ball willingly, I had to wonder if it wanted to _stay_ in said Ball, or if it had merely done what it needed to do to survive in that moment without thinking. Had it thought past simply surviving the Pidgey encounter? Had it really considered what it would be like to live with a trainer long-term? Were Bellsprout even _capable_ of long-term thought?

This might be shitty of me to admit, but once I'd calmed down and absorbed the fact that my first and only Pokémon on that Route would be a Bellsprout, a tiny thread of disappointment wormed through my chest. I really had wanted a flying type, like one of the Pidgey I'd been forced to flee, or maybe at night I could've come back and found a Hoot-Hoot (Noctowl were cool, after all)—but I mean, it's not like a strong grass-type would go amiss, right? Maybe with training, the Bellsprout could be pretty cool, too. Right?

I knew better than to voice any misgivings about that aloud, of course. No sense hurting the creature's feelings… even if it was a sentient plant.

How deeply could a sentient plant feel things, anyway?

But I digress.

Taking a deep breath, I motioned for Hotaru to come to my side before I thumbed the button on the front of the Ball. The Bellsprout popped free at once, body coming into view when the red light coating it faded from sight. It really did look like a butternut squash supported by a precariously thin array of vines, vines that honestly didn't look thick or strong enough to support its bulbous head—which is probably why the sight of its small black eyes, currently affixed on the sky above as it hunkered warily on the ground, was so unnerving. A squash wasn't supposed to have a face, nor was it supposed to be capable of a fearful expression like that.

"Hey," I said, modulating my tone. "It's OK now. Those Pidgey are gone."

Its head swung in my direction. Truly its eyes looked like berries stuck haphazardly to the outside of a gourd, round and shiny like a polished plum's skin. I swallowed, smiling despite the way its gaze set my skin to prickling.

"Smart move, by the way," I said, "jumping into the Ball like that."

It stared some more. Soon the jagged-edge leaves beneath its head rustled, vines writhing with a sound like distant rain. It stood up a little straighter. Or at least its vines lengthened, making it appear taller as it pulled itself out of its stoop? Still wasn't quite sure what to make of this thing's anatomy, but whatever. I shook myself and forced a smile.

"Well. I have to ask." I held up the Ball. "Did you just jump in there to escape, or would you be OK with coming along with me? I don't want to impose, and—"

It skittered forward so fast I couldn't help but yelp in shock, leg kicking out in fright as its vines and tendrils wrapped around and affixed themselves to the shank of my prosthetic—but that's where it stayed, once it grabbed hold. It clung to my metal leg, gourd-like head pressed to the side of my knee, staring up at me with big, shiny, plum-colored eyes. The tip of its long head split at its pointed end, revealing the inside of a mouth the same color and texture as a scarlet rose's petal.

"Uh," I said.

Its leaves shook. One of its vines crept upward. The tip of it split into three strands, almost like a knobbly hand with fingers, and then it gently traced the pattern of sakura blossoms painted on my prosthetic's black socket with a small trilling sound of appreciation.

Call me crazy, but I swear its weird mouth curled upward in a smile.

"OK." I took another deep breath. "Seems like you're on board. Is that right?"

Its leaves rattled. It traced the flowers again, large spherical eyes glimmering.

"Well. OK, then." I reached for its little viney hand and shook it; the vines curled around my fingers and squeezed back, gentle and twiggy but surprisingly strong and dexterous. "Welcome to the team, uh… Taiki? Sound nice?"

Taiki rustled and rattled—and then, with an odd shucking noise, its eyes appeared to retract into its head (which was apparently much fleshier than any gourd I'd ever seen). Its saw-edged leaves folded inward, its vines tucked close to my leg, and to my surprise a sound like a seed clattering around inside a desiccated pod issued from its skull.

Taiki—my creepy, impish little friend—had dozed off.

In spite of myself, I could keep from smiling.

"Then it's settled," I said. I patted his head, which felt like waterlogged-yet-dry wood beneath my fingertips. "We're a team of four already, huh?"

Beside me, Hotaru gave a chirp of cheerful confirmation.

* * *

I didn't waste much time in Violet City. Sprout Tower rose above the indigo-shingled houses like a spear against the sky, its rise hazy behind the smoke drifting from the many torches decorating the old-fashioned architecture that characterized this settlement. I knew I didn't want to head the Gym, so really I didn't see the point of lingering here. I'd left early enough from Joey's to make it all the way to Goldenrod, after all, provided I took the road northeast of Violet and then veered south at the fork.

Malkin lived in Goldenrod. And what I wouldn't give, to see a friendly (if not dour) face as I got started on my Journey.

To the east of Violet lay a checkpoint, a building that stretched the width of the road and provided shelter for travelling people as they made their way down the underdeveloped causeways linking towns. Seemed like the Government would much rather build a few buildings here and there instead of fixing miles and miles of roadway, but whatever. No skin off my nose. I walked in through its large double doors and marched determinedly past the counters lining the long sides of the rectangular building. There were a few lounge areas and a small café inside, just enough to refresh travelers before they headed into the city proper; skylights above let in ample natural light, airy and fresh and bright. A few wilderness officers milled about, manning the counters and handing Violet City Tourism Board pamphlets to a young duo lugging a set of massive suitcases. The woman half of that duo stood with arms crossed over her chest, trendy boots spattered with mud and leaves.

"You said we'd get there in time!" she was saying as I walked by.

"I know, honey," said her boyfriend (or husband, or brother, or whomever). He looked frazzled, even muddier than his companion as he thumbed furiously through the pamphlet. "But I didn't think this would happen! We'll have to go the long way around through Violet City, then through Union Cave and Azalea Town—"

"Ugh," said the woman with a toss of her long hair. "If only we had Fly, we could just…"

I had reached the doors by then; I pushed through them and out of earshot with a mutter of, "See? Overreliance on Pokémon. What'd I tell ya, Hotaru?"

Hotaru peeped. I'm assuming she agreed. She's the sensible sort like that.

Beyond the checkpoint lay Route 36, which was—you guessed it—another road flanked to the north and south by tall trees, stretching east and west amid the pressing forest. It forked to the south about 500 years ahead of me, another section of path snaking off amid the looming trees. When I reached that fork, a signpost said that I'd reach the Ruins of Alph if I went south, and that Goldenrod and Ecruteak Cities lay to the west.

To the west, then. I'd explore the Ruins later—if I ever felt the need to explore them at all. It wasn't like I remembered their purpose in the games, anyway…

Hotaru and I walked together for about a mile before the scenery started to look familiar. The road looked more defined here than in the earlier parts of my trip, since Goldenrod was a major city and this road led straight to it. Mom and I had driven out this way once to visit a doctor in Violet, back when I first became Hoshiko and before Mom trusted Malkin enough to work on my leg. When I saw the path drift to the south ahead of us, my stride lengthened of its own accord.

"We're getting close now, Hotaru," I said, pointing. "The path splits just around that curve, and then we'll basically be home free to Goldenrod."

She chirped at me, my excitement infectious—but when we reached the curve in the road and rounded its obtuse corner, the fork in the road coming into view beyond the cloistering trees, she peeped again. This time her cry sounded confused, though. Its tone mimicked the emotion in my voice as I skidded to a stop, wind carrying the scent of evergreen as I took a deep, sharp breath through the nose.

"What the…?" I heard myself say, but that was all I could do for the shock.

Ahead of us, the road lay in _ruins_.

It was as if a bulldozer had come by and levelled the terrain, dirt and debris and cracked boulders strewn about in a huge, imposing pile nearly twenty feet tall. It covered the road completed, earth and broken rocks piled up at the foots of the enormous trees lining the road itself. Some of the trees had been torn up by the roots, as well, crashing into other trees and fallen across the road like an enormous dam. It looked impassible, and not just because of the state of the road. A construction crew of people and a few Machokes scurried about, carting away dirt and stones and throwing them in the back of a huge dump truck. A line of caution signs and wooden barriers painted a bright, glaring yellow of warning kept a small crowd at bay; the people in it stood on tiptoe, murmuring and staring at the scene of destruction before them in a tight, anxious knot. A man in a hardhat and a reflective vest stood just beyond the barrier, his head rising a few feet above the crowd as he tried (in vain) to motion for them to back up.

"Now, now," he said, exasperation evident on his pinched face. As I joined the crowd and peered between its press, I saw he was standing on a wooden crate. "Keep back; this is a dangerous area! If everyone would just stay calm…"

"Excuse me, sir?" someone said. "What happened here?"

His exasperation intensified. "Something tore up the road, that's what! No one's getting through until we finish repairs, I can tell you that much."

"But I want to get to—" said someone else.

"Goldenrod?" he interjected. "Yeah, I've been hearing that all day. Sorry, but you'll have to use Fly or go the long way 'round through Azalea Town and Union Cave if you wanna get there."

There came a shout of shock and dismay; I didn't join in, mind racing a few minutes into the past. Well, now that arguing couple in the checkpoint made sense.

"This is outrageous!" someone shouted, and few others joined in with wordless cries of indignation. "How long will it take for the path to be cleared?!"

The construction foreman shook his head. "We're working as fast as we can, we promise. But something—" (at that he looked extra peeved) "—has been undoing our work during the night. So until we get a handle on the situation—"

A shout rang out. "Undoing your work?!"

"What do you mean, undoing your—?!"

"Has the Government been informed of—?!"

"Please, please, one at a time!" the foreman shouted. "One at a time, I can only answer questions one at a—!"

Sensing I wasn't going to get a chance to ask any questions (not to mention the fact that the foreman seemed to know very few answers to them) I peeled away from the crowd and wandered to around the back of it, over to the edge of the barrier stretching the entire length of the road. It would be difficult with my leg, but perhaps there was a chance I could climb over the ruined road—provided I could sneak past the construction crew. Maybe I should wait until night fell? Scouring the debris and destruction, I tried in vain to look for a navigable path, but the fallen trees were enormous and the earth looked muddy from recent rain, the boulders hazardously balanced and likely to fall if disturbed, anchored in place only by a single odd-looking sapling in one particularly precarious spot—

Wait.

An odd-looking sapling?

Off toward the road's southern border, wedged between a few fallen boulders and well away from the active area of the construction site, stood a tree. It wasn't a terribly tall tree. It was maybe my height, or even a bit shorter, with smooth brown bark dotted by a few spots of yellow discoloration, roots spearing into the soft earth beneath it like any ol' innocent tree's might. The top of the tree forked into three distinct branches, the middle of which forked again into a Y-shape. The other two branches bore clusters of spherical green leaves—or maybe they were berries?—on their tips, shiny and round and gleaming beneath the clouds beginning to gather overhead.

It was a tree. A weird tree, sure, but a tree nonetheless.

That's what it wanted you to think, anyway.

I wasn't fooled for a second.

This tree stood maybe a hundred feet ahead of me, standing in the shadows of boulders and the large evergreens lining the road, but still I narrowed my eyes at it. I glared. I grimaced. I lifted one finger, subtly, and pointed at it from my spot behind the barrier.

"You," I said to it under my breath. "I know what you are. And this _isn't funny._ "

A wind blew.

The tree swayed.

It stilled when the wind ceased.

Hotaru looked up at me with a quizzical tilt of her head. She peeped. I let my finger fall and tutted, turning from the broken road with a sigh.

"It's nothing," I said. "Let's go."

She followed me back to Violet city without protest. I walked with hands jammed into the pockets of my leather jacket, glowering at the road before us as we walked. I'd forgotten that a certain troublesome Pokémon would block the way to Goldenrod, Ecruteak, and beyond at this early stage of the game, forcing the player character (AKA, me, I was beginning to finally admit to myself) to take the arduous route through Union Cave, keeping them corralled so they didn't get ahead of the game's plot. "Foiled by fate again!" I wanted to say, but I didn't. I was in no laughing mood.

If I wanted to get to Goldenrod, fate was trying to tell me I'd have to play by the game's rules. I'd have to complete all the plots lingering in Violet City, the dreaded Gym Challenge chief among them.

Too bad for fate, I'm of the mindset that all rules can be broken.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Sorry this is late; had a busy week._

 _I will eventually stop detailing every time I catch a Pokémon (unless they become a major team member or are an important catch or something) but until now, each catch has had something new to explore and say, making them worth the effort of describing. Such is my thinking, anyway._

 _ **TAIKI | Bellsprout | Male | Impish | Often dozes off**_

 _Taiki can be spelled with the character for "tree," hence the names. Also she's going to run out of Japanese names eventually and default to puns and references from her past life for names, so that'll be fun._

 _Also, like… the description of roads here is important because holy SHIT, when you actually think about it, the Pokémon games created a world with basically zero paved roads? Route 31 in particular basically isn't a road, just some terrain and tall grass. And the Sudowoodo in the game someone managed to singlehandedly block a narrow pathway? Makes no sense. So, this is how I chose to interpret the infamous Sudowoodo Road Block, because there's no WAY the road to Goldenrod (a major metropolitan area!) would be so narrow it could be blocked by a single, tree-like Pokémon taking a nap. The Sudowoodo tearing up the road makes more sense to me._

 _Many thanks to those who commented last week. Would love to hear from more of you if you get a chance. Love these peeps to bits: C S Stars, frankieu, bwburke94, and tsaurn!_


	14. Chapter 14: Route 32 & Violet City

Warnings: None

* * *

Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 14:

"Route 32; Violet City"

* * *

I tried to tell the construction foreman about the tricky tree standing at the side of the road, but he just laughed me off. "A Pokémon?" he scoffed. "I ain't never seen a Pokémon like _that_." And then he shouted at one of his crewmembers to get back to work, abandoning me at the edge of the still-yelling crowd with my jaw dropped clean to the muddy ground.

Sensing the futility of my situation, I spun on my heel and walked from the barrier keeping us back from the ruined road, heading the way I'd come down to the fork in the road—and then I veered south, toward Route 32 and the entrance to Union Cave at its end and Azalea on the other side.

Too bad for me, I didn't get as far as the entrance to that cave.

It wasn't the trainers who populated Route 32 (ones I vaguely recalled from the games) who stopped me in my tracks. I wasn't waylaid by a wild Pokémon, either, or challenged by the absentee Silver. The road was actually pretty wide at the top of Route 32, covered in an even coating of gravel and bordered on one side by a peaceful, sunny meadow and a picturesque bit of forest on the other. I walked down that stretch of road without issue, muttering to myself as Hotaru hopped along by my side. "Screw the Gym," I said under my breath. There was no sense fighting at the Gym if I could just walk around it, I reasoned, and head to the next town without making a potentially perilous pit stop. No. Much better, instead, to just head on to the cave and run through it, to Azalea, and then move on to Goldenrod where a friendly face waited—

I glanced up at the road ahead of me.

I stopped cold.

Down an incline past the sunny meadow and lovely forest, was… a gulch, I think? The road dipped low, bordered on either side by high cliff faces of golden stone, a sort of gully or rivulet in the landscape likely carved by years and years of erosion. Maybe a river had snaked through here once, carving a divot in the landscape that evidenced its ancient passing. The road narrowed as it dipped into the depression, only ten feet wide at its widest and still covered in a nice coat of crunchy gravel. I looked left and right, wondering if I could continue on my way without passing through this place, but the ground jutted steeply upward in both direction, cliffs rising long and high in either direction like a stone wall crafted by the hands of giants.

I could not continue forward without passing through the gulch.

I could not continue forward without passing _him._

He stood in the middle of the road with his back to me, but even turned around, I knew precisely who he was. The Pokémon standing at-the-ready at his side gave the game away immediately. The human half of this duo stood with hands clasped behind his back, broad shoulders in their dark blue jacket squared as he stared off into the distance. I gulped when I realized who he was, taking a step backward—and my foot crunched over a particularly noisy spot of gravel.

He turned around.

Our eyes met. They held there for a minute. And then his eyes narrowed, sweeping over me with barely disguised disdain.

" _You_ ," said Officer Reynolds.

"Me," said I.

We stared one another down like a pair of cowboys facing off on the dusty avenue of a boomtown. His mustache undulated when the wind whipped by, but the gust didn't rock his surefooted stance. He just looked at me from under the brim of his police cap with a scowl, buttons on his uniform gleaming brilliant gold, until the Growlithe beside him loosed a rocky growl. Hotaru (who stood next to my bio-leg, pressing nearly up against it) bristled in response. The heat of her intensified, searing through the thin material of my tall sock.

Eventually I couldn't take the silence anymore. "What are you doing here?" I blurted. "I would've thought you'd gone back to… well. Wherever it is you're from."

His chin lifted, jaw hard and brimming with disdain. "None of your business." He lifted one commanding hand. "Turn around and go back to town. Now."

"You're not the boss of me," I snapped back—and ugh. I sounded like a teenager, didn't I? Composing myself, I cleared my throat and took a step forward. "I'm going to Azalea Town. Please let me—"

Before I could finish the Growlithe darted forward, hunkering low on the ground with another rumble of aggression, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. I backpedaled, prosthetic slipping on the gravel; Hotaru streaked in front of me and took up a defensive stance, the spots on her back burning crimson. A thin, high whine issued from her throat like the warning call of a poisonous frog.

Lucky for us, Officer Reynolds wasn't interested in letting his Growlithe have a snack. He barked a command ("Heel, Guv!") and the Growlithe eased out of its pre-pounce, turning and padding to its trainer with one final parting growl full of violent promise. Hotaru peeped hotly back, her small stature not deterring her in the least.

Officer Reynolds wound his hand into the Growlithe's studded collar. "You're going back to Violet City, Miss Uehara," he said, eyes stony. "Do not try to argue."

I gaped at him. "You can't just—!"

"I _can_ just, and I _will_ just." He pointed at Hotaru, lips curling in a sneer. "You might have a rare Pokémon at your side, but you are an inexperienced trainer. Green. Wet behind the ears. _Incompetent_." He listed each descriptor with what can only be described as 'relish.' "The Route beyond this point teems with trainers spoiling for a fight. You are not ready to face them yet, I assure you."

"But how can you say that?" I protested. "You've never seen me battle!"

"No," he said with maddening calm. "But I know you haven't yet challenged the Violet City Gym."

He spoke with utter confidence, no hesitation marring his words at all, and that assurance had me blinking in surprise. "How do you know I haven't—?"

"I have my ways." He pinned me with a glare. "There is no use lying about it, I assure you."

We stared (well, I stared and he glared) at each other again in silence. I had no freakin' clue how he knew I'd avoided challenging the Violet Gym, and I got the sense from his hard demeanor that any attempts to ask would be met with outright refusal. But enough about that. How could I get around this guy? This seemed like the only way south, but maybe after dark he'd go back to town to sleep—

As if reading my intention in my face, his eyes hardened further. "I will not be leaving here any time soon, Miss Uehara. Funny business is not allowed."

"What're you gonna do, sleep here?" I quipped, and to my displeasure he pointed at the rucksack sitting propped against the gully's stone wall with a look that told me yes, that was indeed his intention, and I was an idiot for not spotting the rucksack sooner. Well, damn; homeboy was sure determined, much to my chagrin. I sighed and said, "OK, _fine_. So if I get the Badge, will you let me pass?"

Something bright flickered through his steely eyes—but as soon as I noticed that odd look play across his features, it vanished, covered beneath another of his looks of utter steel. "Maybe," was all he grunted in reply. "If I think you're strong enough."

My jaw dropped (it was doing that a lot these days) as my ire rose. Fists clenching at my sides, I spat, "You are a complete and utter—!"

But I bit back the insult before it could make it out of my mouth—mostly because pissing him off wouldn't be advantageous. No use asking for favors from a person you've insulted, right? Better play nice, at least for the time being, and see if I could get on his good side. He'd be more willing to bend the rules for me if I sucked up a little, was my thinking.

And besides. That odd look on his face had resembled _relief_ for a second there, incomprehensible as that seemed. Relief that I'd agreed to his terms, maybe? Relief that I wouldn't be walking past him to challenge the trainers along the road? Maybe one. Maybe both. Maybe none. But as he turned from me, staring down the length of Route 32 again, I couldn't help but wonder if this was his annoyingly hard-ass way of keeping me safe. He wasn't letting me pass because of the strong trainers lying in wait, he'd claimed. He was warning me away from danger before I was ready to face it—and pointing me at a different kind of danger in the form of a Gym, which sucked a lot, but…

In short, Officer Reynolds was an asshole. That much had been made clear when he bullied and browbeat me back in Elm's office. But much the way other adults in this world cared for random kids, he too was looking out for me in his own annoying, hard-ass way. Like a drill sergeant who puts you through boot camp so you can survive the grueling nature of war later. And maybe I was wrong about all of that and just making excuses for the bastard, but something told me there was more to his behavior than met the eye.

Didn't make him any more likeable than he already wasn't, though.

"… fine. I'll think about trying to earn the Violet City Gym badge," I eventually told him, exasperated. "But can you _at least_ tell me what you're doing out here, anyway?"

One eye glared over his broad shoulder. His blocky jaw barely moved when he spoke. "As stated, _none of your business_."

"… you're waiting around for Silver, aren't you?"

That question had been a shot on the dark, but to my surprise, I think that shot struck true. I said, hoping my shot in the dark struck true. Reynolds spun back toward me with a growl that matched his barrel-chested Growlithe's. "Watch your mouth, Miss Uehara," he rumbled. "I don't like it when people pry."

My brow rose. "That's not a 'no.'"

"And it's most certainly not a 'yes,' either." He lashed out a hand again, gesturing up the road. "What are you, a detective? Get back to town. I'm _busy_."

Guv the Growlithe, sensing its master's ire, bared its wicked teeth and snarled. Hotaru greeted the snarl with a burbling chirp of her own, trying her best to sound aggressive in spite of her nature, size, and all around adorableness. At the collective posturing of all the people and Pokémon present, I couldn't help but sigh. Again. So much jaw-dropping and sighing today, my word…

"Fine. Be that way." I dipped a frilly bow—mostly as a joke, because I sure as hell didn't actually feel like bowing at this dude. "Have a nice day, sir!"

Reynolds glared and harrumphed before smartly turning his back on me. "It's _Offi-_ sir to you, Miss Uehara," he said, and as I walked dejectedly toward Violet City, I heard Guv give a bark of warning at my retreating back.

* * *

Sprout Tower loomed above Violet City like some watchful guardian. The deep purple tiles of its many tiered roofs glittered in the sun like lava rock, facets catching the light even at a distance. The architecture of the monolith reminded me of a Buddhist temple, all curling eaves and peaked roof lines, but as far as I could tell, Buddhism did not exist in this world. So many things from my old world did not exist here—and yet, there were echoes. Strange, twisted echoes of my world's architecture, food, culture existed here without explanation or logical progression. Those remnants, inexplicable as they were, had bothered me when I first became Hoshiko. They'd nagged at my logical perception like an aching tooth, and the more I tried to explain them away, the more they seemed to nag. Eventually I had to stop pinpointing them entirely for the sake of my mental health.

That's why I tried not to wonder about the origin of the French-named parfaits in this world as I dug into one, eagerly slipping a spoon down through the clean, pretty layers of yogurt, berries, and diced fruit. I just enjoyed my first bite, savoring the taste as well as the cool breeze drifting across the café's sunny porch. I sat at a small metal table with clawed feet, shaded beneath a colorful umbrella patterned with leaping Magikarp, and watched as my Pokémon ate from a few shallow bowls placed on the ground near me. The café, it turned out, served both Pokémon and people, and many of the tables on the large porch seated a mix of both.

My Bellsprout and Kakuna didn't eat, oddly enough—or not so oddly at all considering Yoroi didn't have a mouth to speak of and Taiki was a literal living plant who furled out his leaves (he was a he, my Pokedex said) and absorbed sunshine for nourishment, eyes closed and contented as he lay on the warm flagstones in the sun. Hotaru's food, specially formulated for fire types, looked like a hearty root stew of some sort, burnished red liquid enveloping chunks of rough-cut vegetables, and Hibiki picked from a bowl of mixed nuts and berries with gusto. Between bites the Pokémon chattered at each other, getting acquainted after finally being released from their Balls at the same time.

It looked like they were having fun.

Me, though? Not so much.

The first few bites of parfait were sweet and tangy and delicious, but I only managed to choke down one or two before I lost my appetite. I nudged berries and fruit through the white yogurt, staining it rainbow colors, and just watched as Taiki and Hotaru played a game of rolling the almost-cylindrical Yoroi between them like a game of earthbound catch, or maybe soccer with liberal use of hands or hand-like appendages (Taiki with his myriad vines made description complicated). Yoroi laughed like a crunching leaf as his irregular, lumpy body veered off course across the cobblestone ground and they had to give chase. Sighing, I voiced a half-hearted command to stick close to the table, but they appeared not to hear, and I didn't have the heart to try again.

A few moments later, Hibiki's pudgy face poked over the edge of the table, framed on either side by her small paws. Our eyes met; her ears twitched; she levered herself atop the table with the help of her large tail, balancing on it with her short arms crossed over her wide chest. Her head cocked to one side, eyes narrow as she looked me over. Even without human features, her concern was obvious.

For a minute I pondered if talking to a Pokémon would make me look unhinged, but then I sighed and decided I didn't really care. "Something tells me that Officer Reynolds is gonna sit there in that gulch for days, waiting for Silver to come by," I told her, keeping my voice low.

Her head cocked further.

"Oh." I forgot she didn't know who that was. "Silver is the guy who stole a Pokémon from a friend of mine. The Pokémon was Hotaru's friend."

At that, Hibiki's eyes narrowed further. She punched one fist into her other paw, a clear declaration of aggression if I'd ever seen one. The aggressive act on such a cute creature only made her seem cuter; I reached out and petted her head, gratified when her eyes closed and she relaxed again with a burble of contentment.

"It's OK," I murmured. "We'll try to figure that out the next time we run into him. But for the time being, we have another hurdle to navigate."

I glanced across the patio; Hotaru and Taiki had rolled Yoroi all the way over to the edge of the patio and were making their way back. Some of the people eating there looked on and smiled, giggling at their antics with good humor. I, meanwhile, couldn't help but chew on my lower lip. Between my team of four we had normal, fire, bug and grass types. And that wasn't good.

The Gym in this city, if I remembered correctly, boasted a leader who specialized in flying types.

Bugs were weak to flying. Fire, grass and normal types did no special damage at all.

Without a Pokémon with a type advantage, winning wouldn't be easy—and surviving wasn't a guarantee.

Eyes still on Hotaru and Taiki, I told Hibiki: "With Reynolds in the way, it looks like we have to face down that Gym." A beat passed. "Or we can just sit here for two weeks or something until he gives up and goes home, but… I don't know." I leaned my forehead on my hands and groaned, fingers threading through my hair. "I don't know what I'd do with myself, sitting on my ass for weeks," I said. "I'm supposed to travel from town to town on this Journey and go home when I've seen the world, but… I just feel directionless." My head sank lower, elbows sliding forward across the table. "I don't much want to face the Gyms. But what else can I do, really?"

This whole thing was basically a farce, when you got right down to it. I had been forced out of my home and told to… wander? To just aimlessly roam from town to town, desperately looking for purpose? That was sort of the point of a Journey, admittedly, to help kids find what they want to do with their lives, but to just send young adults on a blind ramble through the better part of a continent with no guidance or goal beyond risking the lives of sentient creatures in pointless battles I didn't even want to—!

A warm little paw touched the top of my head. Hibiki had hopped close, peering down into my distraught face with a scowl. We held each other's gazes for a minute after I looked up, silent, until she lifted her paw from my head—and proceeded to give me a series of little slaps across the face, alternating between cheeks, hands smacking at my face with little pops of paw-pads on skin. Knocking sense into me, I supposed. It didn't hurt. When she rocked backward onto her tail with a harrumph that said she had buffeted me to her satisfaction, I couldn't keep from smiling.

"Well. Thanks for that, I think." I ruffled her head again, scratching behind one of her long ears. "I suppose we could just go train in the woods and then try to pass through the gym with pure muscle, but—"

One of the café's metal chairs scraped across the patio behind me, legs ringing bell-like against stone. "Yessiree bob, I do think that's the case!" came a reedy voice. "Why, he's never even boxed the thing, and you know what _that_ means."

Hibiki's brows rose (if such a thing is possible for a Sentret) and she listed to one side on her tail. I turned, following her gaze to a table not too far away across the patio. Three men occupied a table beneath a colorful umbrella a few feet away; they were older, maybe in their 60s, nicely but shabbily dressed in various coats and slacks and denim pants. One wore a straw hat; he leaned forward and tapped the table with a fingertip, looking between his two companions with a conspiratorial smirk.

"He knows that as soon as he boxes that Pokémon, the Government'll get wind of what he's done," said Mr. Straw Hat. "Boxhackers can fudge the Mandate, but they _never_ get past the sensors on the storage system, that's for dang sure."

One of the others (who wore a small red flower in the front pocket of his yellow shirt) frowned. "But do you really think he'd violate the First Encounter Mandate like that? He knows as well as we do why it was instituted."

"Sure, but you know the rumors—that they might relax catch restrictions soon for common evolution lines soon, or they'll relax it in areas where Pokémon populations have bounced back." Mr. Straw Hat shrugged and laughed. "He heard the rumors and figured, what's the harm in catching another Pokémon from that Route if they're just gonna relax restrictions soon, anyway?"

"I dunno, Barkley," said the third man. He wore a pair of thick glasses, which he pushed up his nose with a fingertip. "That's quite a risk."

Barley (AKA Mr. Straw Hat) scoffed. "A risk of what, a _fine?_ " Another laugh followed, derisive but good-natured. "You know the Government doesn't fund jails these days. Spends all its money on the Pokémon Centers and the League, restitution after starting that mess of a War." This time he slapped the table outright. "Nah, I'm telling you boys—his Mareep got crushed in that accident, so he got in touch with a Boxhacker for a bootlegged Ball to dodge the auto-registration and just caught a new one, easy as you please!"

I sat up straighter and muttered, "A Mareep?"

They didn't hear me. The man with the glasses stroked his fuzzy chin. "Well… I guess it's possible," he relented after a time.

"Hard to say for sure," agreed the man with the flower in his pocket, and he stroked his chin, too. "I guess Mareeps all look the same to me."

"You just gotta look close," said Barkley with a sage nod. "His new one has more rings on its tail than the last, I'm telling you!"

"Excuse me, sirs?"

They glanced up as my shadow fell over them. I felt as surprised as they looked, scrambling out of my chair and walking over to boldly, but the mention of that Mareep—

"Why, hello missy!" Barkley said when he recovered. He tipped his hat, eyeing Hibiki sitting on the table behind me. At the sight of her, his eyes lit up. "By the looks of things, you must be a young Trainer on a Journey; is that right?"

"It is. But I was wondering—"

"Lovely work you have there," said the man with the glasses. He nodded at my feet. "Flames are a nice touch."

For a second I didn't quite clock what he was talking about—but oh. Of course. My prosthetic and its decorative accoutrements. I smiled at him on reflex and voiced a quick thanks.

"Doctor Malkin's work?" he said.

That comment threw me for even more of a loop than the former. "You know him?" I said, blinking in surprise.

The man with the glasses grinned, but rather than reply, he just reached into his pocket and pulled forth a Poké Ball. A Machoke appeared after he thumbed the button on the Ball, humanoid creature a little shorter than me but at least ten times more muscular. It had smooth, blue-grey skin with vivid red striations on its arms, a row of rigid grey fins atop its skull, and a round, flat face that would have looked passably human if not for its brilliant scarlet eyes and the tusks jutting from its mouth. Although I'd seen a Machoke before (a small squad of them had packed up my house when we first moved away from Goldenrod) the sight of this one made my eyes bug.

Its left thigh ended just above where its knee would have been, and below the end of this residual limb, a gleaming silver prosthetic supported the Pokémon's weight.

The man with the glasses chuckled at my reaction and reached for the knee of his pants. He pulled at the fabric, revealing under it the shank of a metal prosthetic of his own. I looked between trainer and Pokémon with my mouth open, though my expression slowly morphed into a smile after a moment or two elapsed.

"Thanks to Malkin, me and ol' Grapple here are a matching set," said the man with the glasses. "I'd know Malkin's work anywhere."

"That's _awesome_." I'd seen a few Pokémon with Malkin's work before, but only near or inside his clinic in Goldenrod; to meet someone with one 'in the wild,' so to speak, was an unexpected pleasure. I extended a hand toward the man with the glasses. "My name's Hoshiko."

He took my hand and shook. "Greg."

I shook Grapple's hand for good measure, earning a grunt and a smile from the beefy Pokémon. "Greg and Grapple. Great names." I scratched the back of my neck and looked at Barkley in his straw hat. "But, hey. Sorry to butt in and sorry I eavesdropped, but did you say your friend caught a Mareep near here?"

"Why, I did!" he said with a sunny beam. "And if we're reading it right, he might have even caught two." He eyed me over. "You have a Pokédex?"

"Yeah."

"Pity they didn't give our friend one. Much harder to make an illegal catch with one of those in your pocket." He shook his head, twisting sideways in his seat with another smile. "But enough about that. You want a Mareep, you head south on Route 32. They're everywhere over there."

The hopeful bubble in my chest popped. "Oh, damn," I said (the three men exchanged a look, perhaps wondering if it was OK for them to let me curse). "I don't think I can go that way. There's this police officer keeping a lookout near that gully, gulch, whatchamacallit, and he won't let me go through and—"

"Oh, that's no trouble," said Greg. "Plenty of Mareep live just north of that canyon."

"There's a meadow where they congregate," said the last man, whose name I still hadn't caught. "Lots of Mareep runnin' around out there, I'm tellin' ya."

And the hope-bubble returned, swelling even larger. I'd passed a meadow before meeting Reynolds. I knew _exactly_ what they were talking about! Grinning, I backpedaled over to my table and whistled for my Pokémon, grabbing my backpack and recalling the team into their Balls one by one. I left Hotaru out and motioned for her to follow as I approached the three men again, incapable of hiding my grin. To them I said, "You don't realize it, but you guys might've just saved my bacon."

Greg's face screwed up. "Saved your _what,_ now?"

"Oh. Uh. Nevermind." Bacon didn't exactly exist in this world, presence of Spoink in other regions notwithstanding. Still grinning, I walked backwards off the patio café and waved, calling, "Anyway, what I mean to say is thanks! But I gotta go; see ya!"

"Oh, so soon?" lamented the man with the flower in his pocket.

"We're here every day, kiddo, if you need anything!" said Barkley.

"So come back and see us before you leave town, all right?" called Greg, and his Machoke gave a bellow of agreement for good measure.

After shouting an agreement to return, it was all I could do not to sprint back to Route 32. Only the dull pain in my residual limb kept me from pelting back to the meadow north of the canyon, reminding me to pace myself and not take this Journey quite so fast. The Mareep would be there, I told myself, whether I got to the meadow in two minutes or two days—but even so, I walked probably faster than I should have toward Route 32, eyes eager and trained ahead. A Mareep, after all, could make or break my attempt at conquering the Violet City Gym—but as I reached the fork in the road outside of Violet, something occurred to me that slowed my impatient steps at once.

Surely there would be more types of Pokémon that just Mareep in that meadow.

Given the strict nature of the First Encounter Mandate, what were the odds of catching my most desired Pokémon on the first try?

I tried not to think about those odds as I headed south at the fork. Before I knew it, and perhaps before I was ready, I found myself standing at the edge of the sunny meadow, its tall grass dyed golden in the afternoon sun. A wind wafted by, sending my hair into my face, but as I stared into the depths of the field before me, I didn't move to brush the hair away.

Quite a lot rode on this next catch, by my estimations.

I could only hope that fate, which had already foiled me once today, cooperated with my plans this second time around.

* * *

 _NOTES_ :

 _Ah, Officer Reynolds. The protagonist of Gold/Silver meets a few police officers during their travels, so I thought I'd expand their role into what you see here._

 _So, I needed to find a reason to keep Hoshiko in town and to make her challenge the Gym_ _despite her misgivings. The game blocks you from continuing if you don't get a badge, but given Hoshiko's reluctance to try for one, I'm having to engineer reasons to keep her corralled in this town. Hope this was believable._

 _I also think the League Challenge in the context of the games is SUPER weakly explained. Like, beyond a personal ambition to succeed at battling, there's no real motivation to challenge it (especially if your Pokémon are at risk of death in said challenges)? There's no real motivation to make kids travel from town to town on a Journey other than the dictation of custom? Giving the reluctant Hoshiko motivation to travel is probably the most difficult part of this fic. But since so many other Nuzlockes have main characters who are eager to battle and who really want to challenge the gyms, it's a personal challenge for me to work with Hoshiko's reluctance and make it make sense. Sorry for rambling, but I wanted to talk about that for a minute._

 _Also: Somehow this story has accrued 100 followers; WHAT?! Some of you I haven't heard from yet, so if you want to introduce yourself or make a remark about the story, I'd love to make your acquaintance and hear what you think! Thanks so much for following and for supporting this story even in silence. Means a lot to know you're interested!_

 _And many, many thanks to those who chimed in last week with their amazing comments. YOU ROCK MY SOCKS! Fanfic MVPs, that's you! Very grateful to you, EasilyAmused93, Dusky Raptor, KadinaruDess, disenchanted love, C S Stars and frankieu!_


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